Harry's Inner Dragon
by TheGlassKatana
Summary: Harry Potter, wimpy and not powerful in the slightest does not remember ever doing anything of note. Even though his friends say that he saved the Sorcerer's Stone, killed a basilisk, and fended off over 100 dementors, he doesn't remember any of it. But being abused as a child has taught him to ignore his oddness. That is util it confronts him at the World Cup. Flurry;M for lang;AU
1. Letter From No One

****Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

HEY! This chapter is meant as a teaser and for foreshadowing, withhold your judgement and just read the first chapter too before you give up on the story!

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**Inner Dragon**

**By: TheGlassKatana**

**PROLOGUE**

**A LETTER FROM NO ONE**

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Before you begin reading, let me tell you something about Harry James Potter.

The thing about Harry Potter that nobody knows is that he is not exactly what he seems.

What should he seem like you ask? Well shouldn't he be that kind, powerful, and proud celebrity type? Haven't there been rumors about him killing Professor Quirrel, slaying a thousand year old basilisk, and already knowing how to do the Patronous charm?

HA! Let me tell you how everything has really been going down these last 14 years.

Years of abuse at the Dursleys' hands has shaped him into the exact opposite of what everybody thought _The_ _Boy-Who-Lived _should be.

He was not courageous, brave, or bold like a true Gryffindor should be. He did not stand out as someone with a proud bearing, instead choosing to slouch and blend in with crowds rather than bask in the public's adorations. He was neither strongly-spoken nor outgoing, much preferring a more passive and quiet lifestyle and drawing as little attention to himself as humanly possible.

If you were to ask any student or teacher at Hogwarts about how well Harry James Potter performs academically in school they would all say, "He's okay"-alright, well maybe the teachers would say something more like "Mr. Potter shows moderate skill levels but lacks the motivation to succeed"-and be done with it.

The thing is though, that Harry Potter was not dumb by any means of the term, in fact he easily had the capacity to be just as smart as his good friend Hermione, but again the abuse he had suffered both mentally and physically whenever he had done something to stand out had conditioned him into making himself seem mediocre. If anything, the ability to appear purely mediocre when he _was_ intelligent would require someone extremely smart to pull off. He guesses that having Ron as a friend to compare to definitely helped.

No, Harry Potter was not what people thought he was.

Oh, In the beginning he was, back when he was extremely young and had tried fighting back against Vernon with his meaty fists and Dudley with his gang. He would scream bloody murder, fight tooth and nail; and sometimes it worked. Whenever his cousin or uncle would be thrown off of him and blasted against a wall, or when windows and other things would either shatter or start burning and they would stop beating him while their faces were full of fear.

But pain proved to be an excellent motivator and training tool, and eventually all of his fire-so to speak-had been snuffed out and never seen again.

The saddest part of this whole thing is that the raven haired youth doesn't even remember being beaten or fighting back. The only thing he knows is that some mornings he would wake up with various injuries that hurt a lot and that if he did say something about them to his relatives he would just wake up the next day with more injuries. So he stopped mentioning it and accepted that it would happen, and once he did life got a little easier so long as he ignored the missing parts of memory.

And unlike with most personality development, not having the memory did not stop this young boy from developing into the skittish and quiet person he was. I think I know the reason for it but am not really sure just yet, give it a little time and I'll get back to you. All I know now is that magic was involved.

Anyway, back to how much Harry does not match his public image...

Hell, the kid isn't even good at quidditch like everyone thinks he is. And to be completely honest he doesn't even remember playing a single game of the famous wizarding sport in his life. Even when he had first mounted a broom during his first year with Madam Hooch, the only thing he remembers was straddling the broomstick, and then Neville went flying off, injuring himself, and Draco had grabbed the Remembrall and started taunting Harry.

Next thing he knew, Wood was raving about how he would make a great seeker and McGonagall had stars in her eyes at the prospect of having the Quidditch Cup back in her office. Of course, being the sort of 'go with the flow' and 'don't stand out' personality that he had developed in childhood, he nodded his head politely and tried to forget that he had forgotten exactly what happened... only nobody let him forget.

Everybody for days had talked about it; Ron had been the most helpful though. Ron had recounted what he had done in great detail, not that Harry had asked him too, since Ron just liked telling the story to anyone that would listen. Thankfully, from Ron's retelling Harry had been able to piece together what he most certainly didn't remember. Apparently, he had gone off and flown with astounding grace, speed, and control to rescue Neville's Remembrall, and then gotten caught by the strictest Professor in the school and ended up miraculously making seeker.

This wasn't the only time that this kind of thing had happened either. Harry has been experiencing large lapses in memory-besides the beatings in his childhood-more and more frequently ever since he had entered the magical world.

And he had started to finally notice a pattern that these lapses seemed to follow.

After his second year he had realized that these complete blank spots of his memory occurred every single time his life was either endangered or threatened with extreme amounts of harm, whenever he began to ride a broomstick, and whenever he was significantly agitated (never once with Draco Malfoy for some odd reason though).

He hadn't had the chance to see if it happened when he was aroused yet, nor if it happened if he was drowning or being immolated with fire or any other really specific way to die. Needless to say that he hadn't had the pleasure of trying the first one, nor did he have the desire to try the second two.

But all of the things that Harry had apparently done on his adventures with Ron or Hermione towards the end of the last three school years were lost to him. The only reason he believed any of it had actually happened was because Ron and Hermione always would talk about the stories in great detail.

So yeah, the troll incident, going into the Forbidden Forest the first time and meeting Quirrellmort, all of the quidditch practices and matches he has ever played in, saving the Sorcerer's Stone, flying to school in a magic car, going into the forest again, that whole basilisk thing that went down (which was super fun by the way), saving Sirius and all that jazz... yeah Harry Potter remembers none of it.

Then how do I know about all of this you ask? Simple, they're my memories.

Who am I?

My name is Harry James Potter.

Confused? You better be...

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GlassKatana: hey everyone. i hope u all enjoyed the teaser/prelude to my new story. leave a review or PM with all of ur thoughts or questions.

Unfortunately I'm not sure when the next chapter will b up as I wrote all of this on my phone today since my computer is brokeded... and it sucked but i needed to write it after the inspiration struck. So again, don't know when the next chapter will be up but don't worry, I have this whole story pretty much planned out and I'm definitely going to do my best to finish it… no matter how long it takes.

Please Review!


	2. Chest Pains

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter...

Hey guys, the response has been so amazing to this story! 4 reviews and over 700 hits for just a short 1,200 word teaser. Thank you all so much.

The response to this was so awesome I even went out, on my first day off after a 67 hour work week to get my computer repaired and then spent the entire day writing this up for you all.

So thanks again everyone. A shout out to SlytherInHermione for being the first to review. Hopefully this chapter gets a good response too!

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**Harry's Inner Dragon**

**By: TheGlassKatana**

**Chapter 1 - Chest Pains**

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"Harry! Ron! Time to get up dears, can't be late!"

The sound of the door closing behind the Weasley matriarch was the first thing that Harry Potter heard upon waking from his relatively comfortable sleep on the cot next to his best friend's bedside.

"Bloody hell, what time is it?"

Harry looked over towards the bed to see Ron squinting against the dawn sunlight that was streaming in through the window, making his hair light up an even brighter red than it usually was as well as making his freckles stand out against his pale skin.

"Just get up Ron, the World Cup is tonight!" Harry said energetically. He and Ron had been looking forward to the Quidditch World Cup for the last couple months. Ever since Mr. Weasley had told all his boys that he got tickets in the top box with the Minister.

Although, Harry definitely had some suspicions about whether or not his name was used in the process of getting said tickets.

Now Harry Potter was not someone to use his fame for something he wanted, and he most certainly didn't like it if his name was used by someone else to get something that _they_ wanted. But this was the Weasleys after all, who had always treated him like family and welcomed him graciously into their home. So instead of asking about it he just let it slide by like any other time the Weasleys loyalty had ever come into question.

Soon enough he was seated in front of the dining room table and Mrs. Weasley was shoveling very generous portions of eggs onto his plate along with a rasher or two of bacon.

Ever since he had started staying here he had begun to notice distinct changes in his body. After every meal that Ron's mum would serve he got a huge rush of energy followed by a crash about an hour afterwards.

What was curious about that energy blast was that Ginny would always seem to notice that something was happening to him. Or at least that's what he suspected since after every meal she would always watch him like a hawk and make any excuse to stay near him for at least an hour. But Harry, being the kind and naive person he was, just played it off as his imagination getting the best of him.

The most noticeable change in Harry was that his body was no longer the shell of an emaciated thirteen year old. He had put on almost two stone since arriving at the Weasley's.

Harry suspected nutrition potions or the like. There was no possible way that he could gain that much weight so quickly and it not be an act of magic. He decided that there must be something in his food. But again, instead of questioning things like someone with a normal upbringing should, he just rolled with it.

After all, questions weren't a good thing.

Why weren't questions a good thing? He couldn't even remember why, something in him just screamed that questions always brought about dire consequences.

Shrugging off his sudden unease at what he was eating and ignoring the burning desire to ask questions, the raven-haired teenager shoved another piece of bacon in his mouth.

About halfway through what felt like his third helping, the sound of footsteps—that were so out of place amongst the idle chatter of the Weasleys and the clatter of silverware—drew his attention to the spiraling stairs.

A pair of delicate feet came into view, moving rapidly down the steps, followed by a relatively slender waist, and then the most identifiable feature of the young woman, a head of extremely bushy brown hair that bounced with every step.

"Hermione, you're up! Did you sleep in?" Harry asked wondering why she hadn't been at the breakfast table earlier and completely missing Hermione's crestfallen look as he spoke.

* * *

Hermione Jean Granger was rather upset at the moment. No thanks to the famous but still unassuming boy that had just asked her a simple question.

Honestly! She had spent an extra two hours upstairs making sure her appearance was absolutely perfect. She had even put on makeup—which she almost never did—making her eyes seem deeper and her cheeks a little more rosy than usual. The brunette bookworm had even put on her best sundress all in the endeavor to impress one Harry James Potter.

Hermione had been trying to get Harry interested in her since he had first come over to the Burrow a little over a month ago. Whether it be increasing the length of time her hand would rest on his arm, laughing more while around him, or dropping as many subtle hints as she could.

But nothing seemed to work! It was like Harry had no hormones whatsoever. No libido, no sexual drive or orientation, no disposition one way or the other. Harry was just... there.

All of the books Hermione had read about psychology, especially sexual development stated that a boy Harry's age should at least be showing a moderate interest in the female form, or male if he swung that way but Hermione had not seen any indication of either.

It was extremely odd. In fact more and more had seemed off to her about young Harry Potter's personality ever since she had started reading all of those psychology books. Of which it should be said that she had read an extremely exorbitant amount. Clearing out the entire section at her local library as well as ordering more from other libraries in the greater area and reading those as well.

And with all of the knowledge she had gained, anything that fit Harry's situation stuck out in her mind with a big red flag. And finally after almost two months of reading and careful observations it all pointed to one glaring conclusion.

Harry Potter was not growing up. Oh, in the physical sense yes—which she had noticed in great detail—but in the mental capacity Harry seemed to grow at a snail's pace.

It wasn't that he wasn't smart, not at all, she could often see a keen intellect spring up at times but then be quashed by some invisible inner force. And it wasn't that he wasn't well spoken either. It was much more about how he socialized.

Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, should be great socially. After all, what extremely famous person wouldn't want to at least be able to deflect his many fans while still maintaining a good image. Instead Harry would always blink confusedly or shyly while mumbling about some inane things until the person who approached him got bored and left.

That wasn't all that she had noticed either. For no particular reason Harry had always seemed uneasy about meeting new people, which had eventually led her and Ron to both keep to their little trio rather than make any other friends. It was like when a mother would introduce a young child to a new person and then the child would hide behind the mother's leg and wait until the new person went away.

Another thing, Harry was clearly afraid of confrontations or being singled out in any way at all. He always would do his best to keep his head down in classes and would never ask any questions. He would never try and make a big deal about anything at all even if it obviously bothered him. He never disagreed with anything and showed a wonderment at every little new thing about magic.

Just like a kid!

Hermione was an extremely smart girl, getting the best grades in all of their classes and coming out on top in the run for best student of her year. It didn't really take a lot of study in psychology and development, even though she studied extensively, to figure out what was probably wrong with Harry.

Harry Potter must have been abused an extreme amount during his childhood. All the way to the point where he had repressed most, if not all of his memories of the situation.

Except there was one problem with her theory.

Harry wasn't always like the child she observed. In the last couple days before the World Cup him and Ron would go out in the backyard and play on the ad hoc pitch they had created there. She had discovered through very close observation that Harry would stop being the child she thought he was and suddenly become almost vicious in his play style.

No longer would he play like the meek and weak willed person he usually portrayed. Instead he wove in and out of the twins, Charlie, Bill, and Ron with an aggressive attack pattern and then would zip along the rest of the ring with a fully concentrated and severe looking expression on his face before hurling the Quaffle through one of the hoops with a strength that should have been impossible for someone with Harry's physique.

Thinking back, this wasn't the first time she had been witness to this strange phenomenon of Harry suddenly getting very serious and, if she had to admit it, much more powerful both physically and magically.

When she had watched him save Neville's Remembrall in their first year it was like watching a completely different person than the one that now sat across from her with his eyes closed, hands resting on his stomach, and a content smile plastered on his face.

She remembered exactly how his face with an expression of wonderment at watching Draco actually fly on a broomstick slowly changed to something that still made her, admittedly, a little hot under the collar.

Harry had gone from an unassuming eleven year old awash in the joys of magic to a hungry predator with a thirst for blood glinting in his eyes in so little time it was unreal. Hermione was still wondering if it should turn her on or scare her silly.

Even Harry's entire temperament would change in those situations...

'_Wait! No! That can't be what's happening.' _Hermione's thoughts were suddenly scrambling to keep up with her whirring mind at a new theory that just popped into her head.

'_Can that even happen in magical people? I thought every wizard has some sort of magical resistance to that! At least that's what I've read.'_

Hermione made her decision right then and there. She would get to the bottom of this.

Unfortunately for her, the bottom was not very far away.

* * *

Eventually, after breakfast was over and all the dishes were cleared, the group consisting of most of the red haired family plus one brainy bookworm and a famous non-entity were making their way slowly towards the Portkey that would take them to the campsite that Mr. Weasley had reserved for the World Cup.

Harry walked slowly through the woods, trailing along behind the group, as twigs and leaves crunched under his feet and he could tell that school was about to start, as whenever the wind blew the multicolored leaves indicative of a new Autumn flew around him. Something though, was wrong with him.

He couldn't exactly say what was wrong but every once and a while he would get this bubbly feeling in his chest. It wasn't uncomfortable per se but it was most decidedly odd. It had been happening more and more recently. Lately every time it happened his vision would start getting fuzzy and, as odd as it sounds, his magic would thrum in his veins stronger than ever.

And that feeling was happening right now. His chest was tight and constricting and for a moment he felt infinitely stronger.

"Harry?"

Shit. His eye's snapped to Hermione's face and he could see her stop cold in her tracks, her facial expression portraying deep levels of surprise.

He also stopped walking and looked behind him and he didn't know why he did it but for some reason he smirked at her from over his own shoulder.

Suddenly his chest stopped bubbling and without realizing it, his smirk turned into a stupid grin.

"Hermione, come on. We don't want to fall too far behind do we?"

It seemed like whatever had spooked his friend had passed since she quickly put a smile on her face, squared her shoulders and fell into step beside him.

They walked in silence for a short while and admired the beauty of the surrounding fauna. He kept missing the sharp glances his walking buddy kept shooting him though.

After a little more walking Hermione finally spoke.

"Harry," she started gently, as if feeling him out, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure, anything Hermione. Friends don't have secrets after all, right?" he replied brightly, and with the innocence of a ten year old who had just made his first friend.

Hermione grimaced. This looked like it would be a little harder than she thought.

"Do you-... were you-..." She trailed off wondering why this seemed so hard all of a sudden. It took another few moments of Harry waiting patiently for her to ask her question, as they continued to meander slowly behind the Weasley's, before she steeled her will and reaffirmed her decision to see this through. If she cared about Harry like she thought she did then he needed this, just as much as she needed it.

"Look Harry, I've just been a little concerned as to what you're relationship with your relatives is like." She said, but then rushed to explain herself at his almost bewildered look. "It's just, you come back from every summer looking really sick and you're always so hungry on the train that you buy so much off of the trolley it's scary. And, no offense, but you are always really shy and whenever Snape singles you out and starts scolding you at all, you sink into yourself like you're about to be punished... physically."

"What? Hermione...," Harry and Hermione had stopped walking at this point, just at the base of the hill where the Portkey was, "are you asking me if they don't treat me alright? Are you asking me if I've been... _abused_?" Harry said the word as if it was foreign on his tongue. Just the thought of abuse sickened him and made his chest tighten and start bubbling again. He couldn't imagine ever having to go through something like that.

But for some reason he decided to humor her. He thought back on his childhood, trying to remember if he had ever been abused in any way. The amount of food he got, although less than any portions he ever saw his relatives eat, had always seemed like enough to him. Rarely ever did he feel particularly hungry unless it was just before a meal.

He couldn't ever recall being physically beaten in any way, even if he did have bruises and lacerations mysteriously appear on him at times they always were gone within a few days at most. His relatives had called him a freak a lot but that's what he was, right? That's why he would get his mysterious injuries so randomly; he was just freakish like that.

"No Hermione, I have never been abused. My relationship with my relatives is fine, they feed me and shelter me, so I can't really complain, can I?" Harry simply told her.

"But-"

"Really Hermione. I'm fine." Those last few words were spoken in a harsher tone, and Harry didn't know how he had done it but there seemed to be power laced among them as well that silenced Hermione's rebuttal before it had a chance to develop. He noticed a second later that the bubbly feeling had intensified, but it was quickly fading again.

"OI! You lot better hurry up, the Portkey's about to leave!" Ron's voice, that was cracking with puberty reached them where they were still frozen and staring at each other at the bottom of the hill. Effectively snapping them out of their trances they raced up the hill and grabbed the Portkey.

Harry never noticing Ron's jealous glare at his seemingly intimate moment with Hermione nor Hermione's own thoughtful gaze.

There was a tug somewhere around his navel, and then the world vanished in a wash of colors.

* * *

Hermione was sitting in her lavishly redecorated and magically expanded room inside of the tent that Mr. Weasley had borrowed from one of his friends at the ministry.

Harry was playing a game of exploding snap with Fred and George and Ron was playing chess against his dad.

She didn't know why Ron and Harry were so distant all of a sudden. Well, Ron was distant; Harry was just his usual self...

Anyway, she had her suspicions. Ron had always been the jealous type, ever since they had met he had always been subtly jealous of Harry's fame and all of the attention that was lavished upon him when he had first arrived at Hogwarts.

Of course Harry didn't know what to do with that fame so being the eleven year old he was he just brushed it all off and didn't respond to anyone who tried to get close to him because of it. She knew that Ron tried to not care about it, even though he knew that Harry didn't care, but she could tell that Ron hadn't, and probably would never, get over his jealous streak.

She didn't know why Ron had appeared so agitated and cold towards Harry when they first arrived at the Portkey landing zone, but when Harry had started getting fingers pointed at his scar in recognition, along with some appreciative looks from some of the ladies scattered along the walk to their tent, she knew why he was probably avoiding looking at Harry now.

She just hoped they would get over it, or maybe that Harry would finally cut ties with Ron...

'_A girl can only hope. Ron's like a leech on to Harry's fame and isn't a very good friend.'_ Hermione thought. The only reason she had stayed close to Ron was so that she could stay close to Harry, who was her first and only true friend.

When she had seen him first confront that troll back in first year, she had quite honestly thought that she was doomed. He looked so scared and fragile, but then she watched as he somehow overcame whatever held him in place and literally charged the troll head on, performed an impossible ten foot leap onto the trolls back and then proceeded to stick his wand in its nose and blow a small hole through its skull.

Ever since then she knew that she was devoted to him. He was her savior. Her knight in shining armor, and her hope. Her hope that she, the secluded and ridiculed bookworm, could ever have at a lasting relationship.

Only now she suspected that something was seriously wrong with Harry's psyche.

That look she had seen on his face when she surprised him back on the trail was scary. It had completely caught her off guard. So much so that she had stopped walking and allowed him to pull ahead. Then when he looked behind him from over his shoulder and smirked... it was terrifying. The way he held himself was confident and utterly in control of his own body. His smirk was predatory and even a little teasing, like he knew exactly what he was doing to her. His eyes were sharp and analyzing, showing a great and hidden intelligence along with the deadly stare of a predator looking upon its next meal.

Everything about him in that moment had screamed alpha to her.

But before she could register everything about him, the moment vanished. His body slouched in on itself and lost its coiled grace. His smirk had vanished and left a goofy smile in its place, and his eyes no longer held a promised threat, instead they were kind and gentle, soft and bright green in color rather than the hard emerald they were before.

The worst part of it all was that he seemed to have no idea that he had done anything out of the ordinary.

And she was scared for a moment that everything about him was an act. That he in fact _did_ know exactly what he was doing. It had stopped her from asking her burning question. But in the end she screwed up her Gryffindor pride and gave into her curiosity and asked the question.

Unfortunately it didn't yield any solid feedback for her. Harry didn't remember anything. Could he be lying? Sure, maybe, but very unlikely. Harry had never been a good liar and faking a trait like that for four years of friendship seemed even more unlikely to her.

She had tried to get more out of him, wondering if he had repressed the memories. It was a line of questioning she had thought up for days. Something that any experienced psychologist would have been proud to say was their own, but when she had tried to pursue her inquiries, Harry had gone and done something odd again.

He had somehow switched back to that scary Harry—as she was going to start calling it—and spoken with such power and command that her mouth had shut of its own accord.

So in the end, she had nothing. Harry had been truthful about not being beaten up as a kid and also showed some interesting quirks.

Everything about their exchange had confused her, and yet only brought more credence to her growing theory.

* * *

The top box was super cool Harry thought to himself as he stared down at the pitch through his Omnioculars. The minister had wanted Harry seated right next to him for the match. Harry thought that Ron might not like that for whatever reason, but was assured it was okay by the boy as he was too immersed in his brand new Omnioculars to care too much.

Harry smiled at that. He hadn't known why Ron was in such a grumpy mood, but if all he had wanted was a pair of Omnioculars all he had to do was ask. As it was, as soon as he had given his red-haired friend the pair of expensive binoculars Ron had done a complete one-eighty in his attitude. Thanking him and becoming much less grumpy all of a sudden.

So he had ended up seated next to the Minister of Magic along with all of his important international counterparts. He didn't really like other people too much so he kept his face glued to the pitch through the Omnioculars and tried ignoring all of the whispers surrounding him, that were also most likely about him.

The match hadn't even started yet, but Harry didn't care too much. He was just excited to be here. Hopefully his spotty memory would allow him to remember the match as long as he was only a spectator, he didn't want to forget all about this and then have to wait for Ron to recap everything like usual.

"Mr. Potter," The voice of the Minister drew his attention to his left, where the Fudge was standing with who Harry recognized from pictures as the French Minister of Magic and another family. The family consisting of a severe looking father with dark hair and a large nose, who was fiddling agitatedly with his wand as his eyes darted about. There was a breathtakingly beautiful mother with silver hair, and two daughters who appeared to take after their mother in looks. One of them appeared to be a little older than Harry, while the other was much younger, looking around ten or eleven.

"Harry, I would like you to meet the French Minister of Magic Claude Canard and his head of the French Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Sebastian Delacour, his wife Apolline Delacour, and his two daughters Fleur and Gabrielle." the English Minister Cornelius Fudge was grinning like a loon at the introduction of the entire party.

Harry guessed it had something to do with the two older females of the Delacour family. They emitted some sort of strange presence that seemed to affect every single male in the top box. Harry himself could only tell that they were special but he didn't feel anything. There was no urge to gawk or stare and he couldn't really pinpoint why everyone else seemed to feel that need.

All of the males that is. Maybe that was why Sebastian looked so paranoid?

As it was, Harry gave a polite but quiet, "Hello," and returned to staring down at the field through the Omnioculars, taking some mirth out of watching a young boy in the audience down below pick his nose and eat it over and over again.

Being so immersed in his twiddling of the dials on the fancy eyewear, he didn't notice the rather miffed looking English Minister, or the surprised looks of both of the females that were such a popular entity up in the top box.

He more felt than saw the Delacours and the French Minister take their seats directly behind him and in front of the Weasley and Hermione. Fleur was directly behind Harry and Hermione behind her.

He felt the seat to his left rattle and sink a little as Fudge also took his seat. Harry took his face from the eyepieces as a booming and energetic voice filled the stadium.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the pre-game entertainment begins now! From Ireland we have the elusive Leprechaun colony!"

Harry watched with wonderment as the Leprechauns went through their routine and rained gold down on an unsuspecting audience. He was sure to catch everything on the record feature of his eight galleon purchase.

A slightly overweight wizard stood up in the space to the right of Harry wearing faded yellow robes that had hornets flying across them at random intervals. The-Boy-Who-Lived watched as he put his wand to his throat and once again his voice rang inside the stadium.

"And from the Bulgarian squad, men batten down the hatches, the Bulgarian Veela Cheerleaders!"

A loud roar composed of hundreds of male voices spread throughout the ring and only rose to louder heights when a group of incredibly beautiful women, all scantily clad, made their way out onto the center of the field.

Harry never heard the hushed but urgent whispers behind him from the Delacours, nor their fascinated gazes resting on his back as he sat and calmly watched the Veela go through their routine.

He didn't even know what Veela _were_. The raven-haired seeker wished that Hermione was next to him so that she could explain. She always knew what was going on, because he desperately needed an explanation as to why every man in the vicinity was now standing and making fools of themselves; either flexing muscles that had long since slackened or shouting down fantastic lies of their greatness and self-import.

Turning around in his seat to try and find Hermione he was only able to see her trying to pull Ron down from trying to literally fly down to speak to the Veela. Giving it up as a lost cause since she obviously was busy, he started to turn back into his seat when he caught Fleur and her mother staring with wide eyes at him. Trying to pass himself off as unassuming as possible he offered a shy smile and only received an honest one in reply from the matriarch of the Delacour family.

He turned back into his seat just as the Veela left the field for the sidelines.

Putting his Omni's back on, he got ready for the main attraction.

He made sure to catch every single player as they shot out onto the field in a blur of their team's colors, Ireland green and Bulgaria scarlet, Bagman announcing each one.

"From Ireland, their chasers worked hard to get here, we have keeper and beaters RYAN, QUIGLEY, aaand CONNOLLY! The best chaser squad in the entire league MULLET, MORAN, AAAAAAND TROOOYY! And finally at seeker, Captain AIDEN LYNCH!"

Harry watched transfixed at the world renown players raced around the pitch before the Bulgarian team was announced.

"From Bulgaria, having the youngest professional seeker this league has ever seen, they have somehow pulled an underdog story out their arses and made it to the World Cup! At keeper and beaters we have ZOGRAF, VOLKOV, aaand VULCHANOV! At chasers we have LEVSKI, DIMITROV, AAAAND IVANOVA. And last but not least, he's the talk of professional Quidditch everywhere, the world renowned young phenom, vvvvviii**kkttooOORRR KRRRUUUUUMMM!**"

The whole stadium exploded with sound. Krum's name being screamed by young girls—and boys—everywhere.

"The referee for the match today, coming all the way from Egypt, Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, please welcome, Hassan Mostafa!" The cheering for Krum died down to be replaced with light clapping as the small, skinny, and bald, wizard with a mustache entered the field wearing a pure gold uniform.

"And without further ado, LET THE GAME BEGIN!" Ludo shouted out as the game went underway.

The game was extremely fast paced. It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen before. The players were moving so fast, in and out of each other it appeared as if they would crash at any moment but somehow miraculously made it out safe every time.

Harry lost himself in the game, not noticing the bubbly feeling in his chest was back and was slowly getting larger.

* * *

Fleur Delacour had been dreading going to the World Cup. Her beauty and Veela allure would be more a curse than anything as she would be forced to sit among filthy English pigs and have to deal with their nearly non-existent restraint. But her Papa wanted her there so she went, if only because Gabrielle was freaking out about finally being able to see Harry Potter.

Their mother had told her little sister in no uncertain terms that they most likely would not see the famous young wizard but Gabby had not listened and insisted that they would certainly meet.

When she arrived it had been mostly as she expected. Walking through the campsite, her and her mother drew so much attention that they ended up power-walking almost all the way to the safety of their tent.

It was a small miracle nothing bad had happened on their way to the Ministerial Box, but Fleur attributed that to the presence of her father who was imposing enough already, but he was also palming his wand aggressively and glaring at any weak-willed man who decided to gawk at them.

Fleur loved and hated her heritage. She loved it because it was her heritage, it was a part of her and if she ever wanted to be happy she had to accept it. But she also hated it sometimes. When she couldn't make friends because of her stronger than normal allure, that attracted most men and made other women jealous as well as disgusted at both her and their own boyfriends or husbands lack of restraint, it made her feel awful and unwanted.

So it was with both trepidation and resignation that she entered the top box and immediately drew almost all eyes. Her father guided her and her sister to where they were introduced to the English Minister of Magic who in turn introduced them to one of the most famous figures in Magical Britain.

Harry Potter was an anomaly. She honestly could not figure him out at all. What stuck out the most at first was that he seemed to be the exact opposite of what a celebrity should be. Dressed in secondhand looking clothing, unkempt hair that did nothing to hide his scar, and clearly enamored with every little thing that magic could offer.

When he had taken his green eyes from his Omnioculars he hadn't even bothered to stand up like any gentleman would, instead he cast a cursory glance at all of them and only offered a simple 'hello'. It was not a good introduction for Fleur who was used to the subtleties and niceties of the political world, where every man was a gentleman and every woman a refined lady.

Fleur had been shocked at his audacity, and almost on reflex sent out a highly controlled burst of her allure at him.

Only it had just bounced off of him completely.

Her mother and her had been so shocked they hadn't noticed that the English Minister had been caught in Fleur's rebounded allure blast and had started looking like his head was going to pop off with the amount of blood that had rushed to his cheeks. Her dear father had taken matters into his own hands and sat the Minister down gently. He was used to dealing with enthralled men, after all, his wife was a half-Veela herself.

Fleur and her family had sat down after that, and immediately she was wrapped up in hushed whispers with her Mama'n.

"_Mother! What was that?" _Fleur asked, shooting her gaze towards the back of the dark haired wizard in front of her who was back to looking through his Omni's. _"Is it even possible for the allure to just bounce off of somebody like that?" _She asked in rapid French.

The way the allure worked was sending a complex weave of compulsion charms through the delivery of magically created hormones that only Veela were capable of producing. Any warm-blooded male with skin that had pores would at least absorb the allure. It was only how they handled the allure once it was introduced that set certain men apart from being enthralled or left unaffected.

Strong willed men, usually experienced with Occlumency, would be able to shrug off the effects of the allure once it was introduced into their systems. Weak willed men would otherwise be left stuttering messes that would lose control of their own hormonal state, causing them to attempt to be manlier than the rest of their peers around them in an effort to assert themselves as alpha's so that the Veela would mate with them.

Granted the Veela were smarter than to mate with weak willed men who had regressed into a more primal and instinctive state than was otherwise respectable.

So it was a huge surprise when Harry Potter didn't even absorb the allure at all. And from the reaction of her mother this was the first time either of them had seen or heard about something like this.

"_While all things are possible with magic love, this is the first time I have ever been witness to anything like this. It is possible that there is a small layer of magic surrounding him in such quantities that it just reflects the magical portions of our allure but that still does not explain how he was not aroused even in the slightest. There was no pupil dilation, no quickened pulse, no centralized blood flow around the face or thighs. Nothing._

"_Even if the magical portion was rejected he should have felt something. If I were forced to guess what is going on, it would be that Mr. Potter has both a highly concentrated layer of magic coating the entirety of his body as well as such control of his own body that he can somehow control the regulation of his own hormones, as well as reject or allow entry to hormones that would be introduced externally, whether through touch or from a distance." _Fleur's mother finished her short deduction to the wide and disbelieving blue eyes of her daughter.

"_But surely we would be able to sense such a high concentration of magic coating his skin. Even from this close proximity I feel nothing that would lead to that conclusion. Wouldn't a method of this nature be already known? Would not the Veela across the world have already figured something like this out if it was possible? With that sort of control the allure would no longer be a curse. We would be able to control it so completely it would never draw attention ever again!" _Fleur spoke with passion. Hope had sprouted in her heart.

If she could control the allure like Harry seemed to control his own bodies faculties, she would never have to worry about not having friends anymore. She could find a lover without worrying about who they were marrying, her or the Veela in her.

"_Don't be so quick to jump to conclusions Fleur. If it is what you think it is, that would be revolutionary to Veela everywhere. But we must be sure that my theory is the right one. Come, help me cast diagnostics. We must determine exactly what kind of magic he is using as well as how he can regulate the porosity of his skin to the point of hormonal control."_

And with that the two French witches went to work. Apolline would whisper instructions to Fleur and then she would cast the diagnostics as inconspicuously as possible. It had to be her to cast them, since she was the one directly behind him.

After all, they couldn't draw attention to the fact that they were casting diagnostic charms on a fourteen year old celebrity. Especially when Aurors and other higher ups from almost every Ministry in the world were present in the hugely expanded top box. And since they had to be discreet it ended up being an excruciatingly slow process.

Harry only looked back once, when all of the Veela had entered the field they momentarily stopped their casting to watch as even the full-blooded Veela's allure were all repulsed. It was amazing, even some thirty odd Veela's combined allure had not been enough to penetrate whatever defense young Harry had erected around himself. He had looked back at that moment and not finding what he was looking for had turned back around but not before offering a shy smile.

Fleur had to say, for such an unexemplary first introduction and a very poor first show of character, Harry Potter was still pretty interesting. Did he even know what he was doing? It didn't really appear like it. He showed no signs that he even felt their allure in the first place. Could it be that he really was just immune?

Before either Fleur or Apolline knew it, over an hour had passed.

Ireland had been absolutely crushing Bulgaria through the crazy good playing of their chasers, who were outclassing Bulgaria so much that the score within the first half hour had already escalated to Ireland's two hundred and twenty to Bulgaria's ten.

It was a pathetic showing by Bulgaria's chasers, and everyone realized that Krum's quick catches throughout the season were the only reason that they had made it to the finals. Something which Krum also seemed to realize and then decided to take personally if his actions on the field were any example.

Krum had fooled Lynch with a Wronski Feint within the first twenty minutes, in which Lynch was injured so badly that he had to be carted off of the field and taken directly to St. Mungo's.

After that Krum played like a man possessed. He didn't catch the snitch in this time but for every one of Irelands goals that put them just that much more ahead Bulgaria, Krum would get just that much more vicious to his opposing Seeker.

At the fifty minute mark Krum had somehow managed to get every single one of Irelands reserve players, all seven of them (one for each position), injured in some way where they could no longer play as the backup Seeker.

Irelands second string seeker went in much the same way as Lynch did. Their third string chaser took a bludger to the skull and was taken directly to the Emergency Ward of St. Mungo's. All of the rest were disposed of in similar ways as well. Many of them falling to rogue bludgers of which Krum had masterfully maneuvered them into the paths of. And by the seventh player that was put up against Krum, the Ireland's secondary string morale was so low that he just quit on the spot and walked off the field and presumably out of the stadium.

Which led to what was happening now. Mostafa was in a heated argument with Troy, the Ireland chaser who was the co-captain of the Ireland team.

"If you no have seventh player, you no win. You lose like that!" Mostafa said in broken English and snapped his fingers, to try and communicate with the Irish chaser who was much better at English that the Egyptian referee.

"What are you saying!" Troy was yelling now, and the position that they were flying in put them directly in front of the Minister's Box so that everyone there could hear their heated conversation. "Are yoo' seriously tellin' me that if I can' field seven players, after EIGHT o' them have been injured in some way, we automatically forfeit?! You have to be out of your fookin' mind Mostafa! The score is tree-eighty to thirty. We have to win!" Troy was almost frothing at the mouth he looked so pissed off.

But Mosafa knew the rules by heart. He was the Chairwizard of the AIQ after all. "No, you no find seventh player in five minutes, you lose." the Egyptian referee stated with a finality that brooked no argument, his silver whistle magically floating back up underneath his large handlebar mustache.

Fleur was ignorant to the exchange that had happened just in front of her. She was too focused on continuing her study. She could tell she was getting somewhere now. For the last fifteen minutes she had been bombarding him with as much allure as she could in a constant stream in order to test the limits of his defense.

Yes! He was squirming in his seat now. His hand often came up to rub at his chest over and over again. He almost seemed to be panting now.

She had cast a charm on her eyes to be able to see the flow of her allure. After about thirteen minutes it had finally started to sink into his skin, and that was when all of his fidgeting had started. Her mother sat beside her, concern etched on her features, and wondering if her and her daughter had gone too far.

* * *

Harry didn't feel good. It had started about ten minutes ago when that bubbly feeling in his chest had changed into a mild burning sensation. He rubbed at it but nothing would help. He didn't want to draw attention to himself. He was a freak and nobody else needed to know that there was always something wrong with him.

He kept rubbing his chest. The pain was growing, now moving up from his chest and centralizing on his forehead, right above his lightning bolt scar.

He noticed belatedly that there had been an argument on the pitch above him and that the ref was flying away, leaving a fuming Troy behind him. But he had honestly stopped caring. The pain was almost unbearable now.

He stood up.

The world spun.

Troy looked over at him and pointed.

"You're playing!" The enraged and desperate Irish co-Captain turned Captain yelled, holding out a new Firebolt broom.

The world kept spinning...

All the pain, the pressure of being singled out in front of an audience this big...

He watched through hooded vision as his face was projected across the stadium...

Too much...

It was all too much...

His world faded to black and he started to fall forward. Was that Hermione screaming his name?

* * *

Hermione watched in horror as Harry started to fall forward into the bar that blocked the edge of the seating area.

'_Oh no! He's going to fall off!'_ was her last clear thought before her mind stopped. And Harry moved.

And boy did he move...

Harry's hands were a blur as he caught his falling body against that railing and immediately jumped. Performing a front flip over the bar and heaving himself out over the pitch.

In mid air he snatched the extended Firebolt from a shocked looking Troy and mounted it smoothly. Coming to hover right next to the stunned Chaser and giving him a mischievous grin that showed most of his teeth.

The crowd was completely and utterly silent.

* * *

And Bam, chapter done! Sorry for any spelling mistakes. I somehow pounded this out in just a couple hours. I actually thought that I would be further into the story by now but it sort of took a mind of its own.

Updates will most likely be every Friday or Saturday. But reviews usually speed up my process…

Just those 4 were enough to motivate me for this one!

SO REVIEW!

Give me your feedback! Spelling mistakes, general awesomeness, questions, anything!

Till next time,  
-Glass


	3. Suave but Scary

Don't shoot! *puts arms in front of face* I promise, I haven't forgotten this story,

So I figured most people would think that the last chapter was forced and a little corny and over dramatic but it was the only way to force the AU to really begin! From now on the chapter quality/believability should be a little better.

I'll explain at the bottom why I was late for those who care but for now just read...

As always: I Do Not Own Harry Potter

* * *

**Harry's Inner Dragon**

**By: TheGlassKatana**

**Chapter 2 – Suave but Scary**

* * *

_What in the actual fuck…' _was the only real thought that could penetrate the haze that Fleur found herself in after watching the sudden transformation of a boy that she had been experimenting on for the last hour.

There was no way that this was the same person.

She was really supposed to believe that the shy and innocent boy, that was staring through Omnioculars with genuine wonder and amazement—who didn't even realize that there had been spells and extremely potent Veela allure directed at him for the last hour—was actually the same person that now hovered confidently next to one of the most successful Quidditch Chasers to ever play the game?

There was just no way. The boy didn't even really look like the same person anymore.

He sat straight backed on the broomstick and projected such an aura of self-confidence it was almost palpable. His eyes had turned cold and calculating, his body coiled, his movements graceful and controlled to the point where it very nearly made her shiver in either anticipation or fright. And even through that somewhat mischievous grin she could see the barely restrained anger and intelligence that wasn't there before when he had first met her. It appeared that it was no longer hidden behind that innocent mask that seemed to fool everybody.

The change was such a contrast to what she had first thought of the boy—or rather, young man—that it was a mystery the whole crowd wasn't screaming about an imposter.

'_Is Harry playing even allowed?'_ She offhandedly thought, even as she was observing all of the obvious and subtle changes.

The Irish team's manager seemed to have the same thought as he slowly and unsteadily floated out to meet his 'new' player. The manager was a portly man who looked decidedly uncomfortable on a broomstick, but Fleur knew that if he was the manager of a Quidditch team that he had to at least know _something_ about the sport.

The balding Egyptian referee met the young celebrity, the newly arrived manager, and the much older Chaser, where they were all still hovering in front of the Ministerial box.

Fleur wondered what words were exchanged as she watched all of them huddle their heads together and start speaking in hurried but hushed voices.

Whatever was being exchanged was currently testing the most experienced ref in the entire League, as he had pulled out an incredibly large rulebook—that would not fit in any normal pocket without the assistance of magic—and was now madly flipping through it, his mustache being ruffled by the wind that the wildly turning pages were kicking off.

It was almost comical watching as Harry quickly got bored of the conversation and started to slowly float away from the still arguing older men.

Even though he didn't do much other than slowly float back towards the box he had just jumped from, Fleur couldn't help but to admire how at ease he looked on the Firebolt. She was a racer on the Beauxbatons international broom racing team and knew just how hard it was to achieve that perfect balance, graceful poise, and complete sense of comfort that only a true natural could possess while on broomback.

She was very startled however, when that sharp gaze locked onto her. Those eyes that hid so much while showing only the unearthly green glow of a predator of the night, sent shivers up her spine. The exact emotion associated with those shivers was lost to her when she saw him beeline towards her seat.

He was going extremely fast, the short distance left between them certainly wasn't long enough of a space for him to stop.

Fleur heard her mother's breath hitch as Harry still showed no signs of stopping. She felt through the vibrations of her chair when her father left his seat to try and get in front of her.

And the next thing she knew, Harry's face was upside down in front of hers, and he was staring intently into her eyes. His nose rested a hairs breadth from her own and she could feel his breath on her skin. A knowing smirk was playing over the thin line of his lips as his eyes almost seemed to penetrate her very being.

Somehow, the famous young man had managed to stop on a dime right in front of her, rolled upside down and was now face to face with her. His hair hung straight down, exposing his scar which was an angry red color.

Her father's loud voice interrupted their sudden moment as he made to step over his wife in order to reach Harry and Fleur. Clearly Sebastian saw a threat to one of his precious daughters, and the head of the French DMLE was not very happy about it. He didn't know if Harry had been ensnared by her charms or whether he was about to attack for some as of yet unknown reason.

The only thing he could see was that Harry had quickly invaded his daughter's personal space, and he was going to protect her no matter what.

Fleur was transfixed however, missing her dad's sudden movements.

His emerald eyes, possessing a slightly diamond shaped pupil, bore into her own with an unflinching intensity and she couldn't make herself look away.

Harry, on the other hand, did see the aggressive, if defensive, moves that the head of the Delacour family was making. His eye's flicked away from her beautifully captivating blue crystals and met the angry ones of Sebastian Delacour.

Fleur saw out of the edge of her vision as the raven-haired young man's hand flicked off of the broom handle and made a quick gesture. Her eyes were pulled away from his and onto her father as he bodily flew back into his seat with a loud thump.

Sebastian was staring wide eyed and almost panicked looking at the young Potter now. The look he got back was just that same uncaring smirk coupled with the eyes that spoke more than the boy himself.

Harry's eyes sought her own once again.

"You know, Fleur," his name rolled off of her tongue with a familiarity that was _almost_ uncomfortable for her. She was used to all of the mindless suitors who were already enthralled by her. Not this-this... total disregard for her allure.

Harry's attitude towards her was unprecedented in her life so far and she really didn't know how to respond or act. Fortunately, Harry continued speaking, "it's really not very polite to cast spells on a person, especially when their back is turned."

His tone wasn't accusatory, more amused than anything if she were forced to judge. It was the fact that he wasn't angry that made her more embarrassed than anything else at being caught. She could understand righteous fury, hell, if it was her she would be furious. But this casual downplaying of her basically demonstrating that she could have killed him with magic at any moment, sort of blew her mind.

She was about to apologize, and by his smirk he knew that she was about to also. Except a thought occurred to the half-veela a second before she had started speaking. "Wait, you knew I was casting on you for over an hour and you didn't say anything?"

His smirk faltered and that intelligence that was hidden behind that penetrating gaze suddenly came to the fore. "Well, not exactly, but that's a story for another day. Besides, I want to know _why_ you were casting. I could care less about _if_ you were casting on me."

"You're immune to my allure." Fleur blurted it out as there was no point hiding it after being caught.

"Your what?"

'_Okay, seriously?' _There was no way that this person didn't know what the allure was. How would he have developed the most perfect defense against it, that no Veela had ever seen, if he didn't even know what it was. Hardly any other magical substances were introduced to the body through pheromones, and to develop a defense without being exposed to something similar was simply unlikely. Something else must be going on.

"My allure, the pheremonally delivered magical compulsion that all Veela possess, and that makes the majority of men simpering fools when exposed to it." Fleur explained, looking for any indication that he wasn't lying about his ignorance.

"Hmm, interesting. This is the first I'm hearing about it. Would you mind demonstrating?" He replied nonchalantly, still upside down and invading her personal space.

Fleur hesitated for only a moment, sending a concerned glance at her mother but Apolline was too busy fussing over her husband, who was still stuck in his seat, to notice. Taking a look around the box they were in she could tell that her and Harry had drawn attention.

Actually, taking an even greater look around she found out that her and Harry were being projected onto the walls of the stadium. She noticed how close they were, how her cheeks were a little more rosy than usual, and the worst part was that basically anyone who mattered in the entirety of the wizarding world was watching their exchange.

Harry seemed to be oblivious to their situation.

A hot anger swept through her at being so embarrassed and humiliated, by a boy of all things, in such a public forum.

She didn't hold back when her allure blasted out of her in a rush of magic. The vision charm, which was still in place from her earlier diagnostics, allowed her to see the concentrated flow of her Veela allure, impact against the inverted not-quite-yet substitute Seeker.

But this time was different.

Her allure didn't just bounce off of him like it had done so many times before this. This time it was much different. Her spelled vision allowed her to watch as the allure reached him and _flowed_ around his skin, clinging to him and then slowly sinking in bit by bit. Slower than any absorption she had ever observed, but at least it was _being_ absorbed this time.

There was one particularly odd thing though, that brought so many more questions to her mind about Harry's unique reactions to the allure.

Whenever Fleur watched her allure with the unique Romanian Mage Sight charm, which was lost to the human world but commonly spread through word of mouth amongst Veela, it was a complex weave of colors. Blues, whites, purples, reds, greens, and yellows all made up a matrix of different intensity compulsions and pheromones.

The one thing that was stumping Fleur though was that all of the red colored or shaded strands of magic that were part of that weave were not being absorbed by the annoyingly unfazed Potter at all. They sat on his skin, looking like some complex and perverse magical veins.

What was even more odd was when they began to pulse. Shining brighter every few seconds and then fading slowly.

Harry took a dramatically large breath in through his nose and Fleur could only be fascinated as the strands of red magic that clung to him were all inhaled. Harry's eyes closed and a satisfied smile crossed his features before he slowly breathed out.

"That was pretty cool Fleur; kind of spicy at the end though, no idea what that's all about." Harry stated without a care in the world as his tongue darted out and licked his lips.

Honestly, Fleur was getting pretty fed up at his devil-may-care attitude along with all of his posturing about and trying to look impressive. This whole debacle made her temper smolder on the edge of combustion. That little bit at the end where he _still _made her allure look like nothing but a gentle gust of wind made her both curious and upset at the same time.

Curious in the fact that he could still resist her allure without any trouble whatsoever, and upset that her allure didn't seem to affect him at all. It made her a little uneasy, truth be told. Never once in her life did her allure fail her like this, and even though it was something she desperately wanted everybody to be able to do. Watching someone actually do it for the first time sent her mind into a spiral of uncontrolled and uncomfortable thoughts.

The call of the Irish manager broke through her haze and made The-Boy-Who-Resisted-Her turn his head as well. The larger and unskilled man beckoned Harry over to the group with a repeated 'come hither' hand gesture.

The _still_ upside down man nodded back. Fleur idly thought it was impressive that his face hadn't turned red with all the extra blood that should be running to his head.

He turned to her once more before gracefully rolling right side up and dropping down off of his broom and in front of her. Grabbing her hand gently he raised it to his lips and gently caressed the back of the delicate knuckles.

"I'll win it for you Fleur, you brought me out after all." And with that cryptic comment and a roguish wink, he jumped. Throwing himself backwards and coiling his body into a ball, this time he performed a backflip out of the box before righting himself in midair and mounting his broom for a second time with a practiced ease.

The young man, who had left her with so many jumbled emotions after only ten or so minutes of speaking to him, gently descended to the ground and made his way into the locker rooms, disappearing with the entire Irish team, and their manager.

* * *

'_Where am I?' _Surrounding the clueless and weak Harry Potter was a sea of darkness. The only thing he could see was his own body which had started to give off a soft glow, doing nothing to relieve the darkness that enshrouded him.

There was nothing, only him and his thoughts floating in eternal black.

'_I know I've been here before… Oh yeah! This is what happens every single time I lose my memories. Hmm, I wonder what I forgot this time.' _And for the briefest of moments visions began flashing before his eyes.

A humongous and ugly troll with bulbous warts on its gray skin and covered in its own drool was approaching him quickly. Or was it him approaching the troll? Before he could look further the vision changed.

A deadly and evil looking wraith, cloaked in a wispy black robe, floated towards him menacingly. Fresh quicksilver liquid flowed down the figure's lips in rivulets, showing just how recently it had killed and fed on the dead unicorn resting in the background. The eyes were hidden in the shadow caused by the cowl of the cloak; the hands were reaching towards him, promising pain and swift death.

Harry felt the stirrings of fear kick up in his gut; terror crept into his mind as the image played out and then changed. _'No, no! I don't like this. S-s-top.' _His pathetic plea went unheard as the scene changed again.

A humongous three headed dog appeared before him. Its three sets of red eyes were furious looking. Dangerously sharp teeth glinted in snarling maws that dripped with saliva. The heads were swaying side to side, but without warning the middle one lunged forward, its mouth was wide and looked about to swallow him whole.

"STOP IIIITTT!" Harry screamed, his voice rasping slightly with the volume. His eyes were shut tightly, his face scrunching with the effort of blocking out the images. His hands were over his ears, trying to block out the noises that had echoed in his skull.

His whole body was shaking with fear, hot tears poured from his closed eyes and small whimpers escaped him every now and again.

Those memories, they were his own. They were some of the memories that had forced him into the blackness in the first place. The terror they invoked within him, the emotions he was forced to relive from when he had originally experienced them made him seek to not remember exactly how those memories played out. He did not want to live in the fear inspired by those moments, so he had retreated.

He didn't know how he retreated, or what happened when he did, all he knew was that he would get scared and then he would wake up somewhere, usually the hospital wing, safe and sound with no real injuries to speak of.

Oh, he knew there were more of those memories too; there were lots of beginnings in his life, but never any endings it would seem. The memories that he remembered were all of the beginnings of the epic adventures that Ron and Hermione always spoke of, but they scared him so much that he didn't remember anything after he blacked out and came to this place of darkness.

Forcing himself to take deep breaths in and out, he slowly got control of his ragged breathing and rapid heartbeat.

'_I forgot about that.' _Harry thought with regret. Whenever he came here he always had to keep a tight leash on any wandering thoughts. This was a place where if he questioned anything it could potentially summon up those memories; those terrifying and dangerous moments where he thought he was about to die, or where the stress of the situation was too much for him to handle.

And the worst part about all of it was that here, in this place that he assumed was some sort of projection of his own mind, he couldn't retreat any more. He couldn't pull up that feeling deep in his chest and then let go of his will. Here he was stuck, until he woke up with no recollection of exactly what happened while he was here.

'_Okay, carefully this time. Where was I before I came here?'_ The young man with the lightning bolt on his forehead closed his eyes tightly against the memory that was about to start.

_~~ He kept rubbing his chest. The pain was growing, now moving up from his chest and centralizing on his forehead, right above his lightning bolt scar._

_He noticed belatedly that there had been an argument on the pitch above him and that the ref was flying away, leaving a fuming Troy behind him. But he had honestly stopped caring. The pain was almost unbearable now._

_He stood up._

_The world spun._

_Troy looked over at him and pointed._

_"You're playing!" The enraged and desperate Irish co-Captain turned Captain yelled, holding out a new Firebolt broom._

_The world kept spinning...~~_

He cut it off there, being forced to relive the emotions that were raging through him was bringing on a headache of epic proportions.

'_I was at the World Cup! That's right… Holy Shit! Am I playing Quidditch right now?' _His eyebrows disappeared into his fringe as the thought of playing Seeker in the World Cup against Viktor Krum sunk into his brain.

'_No. Fucking. Way.' _Just the thought of being in front of so many people and being put on the pedestal of becoming a professional Quidditch player made him extremely queasy. A dry heave wracked his body and it was all he could do to not vomit on the spot.

'_What would even happen if I threw up in here? Would it just float around like in outer space? Can I even vomit at all?' _The questions would be left unanswered as he didn't really feel like trying it out at that time.

Harry's thought process was derailed when a rainbow of colors suddenly washed through the blackness. It floated past him like a multicolored ribbon on the wind, full of blues, whites and reds. There were greens on the edges and yellows interwoven throughout the whole thing.

It was beautiful, but Harry didn't know where the hell it came from and that bothered him. He had been in this blackness many times in his life and never once did something else accompany him while inside of it.

It was with a large amount of caution that he got closer to the wash of colors that now floated gently into the blackness and would slowly flow out of sight.

As he approached it, it suddenly leapt up at him. Surrounding him and scaring the shit out of him. He tried to swat at it in panic but every time it would just flow through his fingers.

The colors stopped surrounding him and he was relieved to notice that it wasn't doing anything to him except for gently resting on his skin. It clung to him like glue but other than that it seemed absolutely harmless.

The whole time that he attempted to fight off the strange weave of color he hadn't realized that he had been unwittingly caught in its flight path. Now he was slowly moving with the colors, further into his own mind. Somewhere he didn't know, as he had always been much too scared to venture anywhere other than where he first appeared whenever he came here.

Who knew what darker memories rested down deeper inside his own psyche? He sure as hell didn't want to know. But it seemed that the decision to go deeper was out of his hands now as the flow of magical colors dragged him along with it and he could do nothing to escape it.

A white square shape appeared in the distance. It was the first thing he had seen on his slow journey through the darkness and immediately drew his attention. He noted that the flow he was trapped in was also heading to the light, entering it and then disappearing from his vision.

As the doorway made of light edged closer and closer a growing sense of apprehension bloomed in his chest, making his breath catch and heart quicken. He was skittish by nature, and new things scared him easily but there was nothing he could do.

So gathering up his meager amounts of courage he prepared to enter the light.

His body tensed out of reflex as he was blinded for a moment when he entered the bright white aura, that was the only point of light in the inky blackness, only to relax out of surprise as he looked upon the room he had just entered. Immediately the weave of color dropped him onto his feet, leaving him staring in awe at what he had discovered.

It was an exact replica of the Gryffindor common room except for a few key changes. The wall that was supposed to be the large fireplace was instead just a large and plain white wall. It was smooth to the touch and rippled out from his fingers in captivating waves.

In the doorway that was supposed to lead to the boys dormitory was a heavy metal door that was just lightly cracked open enough for a sliver of red light to exit. It was into this door that the weave entered and was lost from sight.

There was another, heavier and much more dangerous looking, studded black steel door that was guarding the entry to the girls dorms. This door was completely sealed shut, there were no cracks around the door, no keyhole, nothing. It looked nigh on impregnable to his eyes.

Walking from his position at the white wall he tried to open the first steel door that the weave was entering. With an experimental tug the door didn't budge even a millimeter. He placed both hands on the cold and uninviting handle and pulled with all of his strength.

The door refused to move at all, the small opening that was there mocked him. The door wasn't even locked! It was already open and he couldn't even move it!

Shoulders slumped in defeat; he walked to the cushy armchair, that was supposed to be next to the fireplace, sat down, and stared blankly at the white wall. His bangs hid his eyes in shadow as a large frown marred his features.

'_God dammit! Why am I so weak? I know I get scared at stuff all of the time, but don't normal people just deal with it? Why do I get stuck in my own mind, in a replica of the common room of all things, and not remember anything that goes on outside.' _Harry's face turned unhappy and hopeless tears started to spring up in his ducts as depressing thoughts raged across his mind. _'I can't even open doors right.'_ He cried.

'_You know what…' _He thought, sniffing loudly and wiping his tears away, not even noticing as red strands of magic, extremely similar to the ones that his alter ego had inhaled from Fleur's allure, darted out of the crack in the first steel door and started to land on his skin in the exact same pattern that they had rested on the skin of the him in real life.

Taking a deep breath, unknowingly inhaling the red strands in the same manner as his counterpart, a strange confidence suddenly filled him and made his insides warmer.

He stood up and thought with a new resolve, _'…I think this time… this time I just want to remember!'_

As if a password had been spoken the entire white wall burst into colors, startling him so much that he yelled in surprise and jumped back, falling into the armchair he had just departed and toppling it backwards.

He thanked Merlin that nobody was around to see his reaction as he got back up, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He was so startled even after his brave moment of wanting to remember that it instantly made him begin to regret his new resolve.

'_I'm not brave. Where did that even come from?'_ He questioned himself now, because even he had realized it was completely out of character for him.

His doubt was forgotten as his vision refocused upon the now colorful wall.

Ever so slowly the colors began to come into focus, coalescing into a conceivable image.

Two brilliantly sky blue eyes appeared across the entire wall, staring straight out at him. A familiar voice echoed throughout the room, the sound seeming to come from all angles.

"I'll win it for you Fleur, you brought me out after all."

'_Wait! That's _my_ voice.' _Harry thought in bewilderment.

The picture in the wall began to move, acting like some sort of window viewed out of someone else's eyes. Only Harry knew exactly whose point of view it most likely was, as the picture on the wall spun and he got a clear view of the bottom of the pitch before a broom rested in-between two legs and the picture stabilized.

'_This-this is me! This is what's happening right now! How the hell am I moving around? Who's controlling it? Shit I'm up high. If I fall now I'm going to die!' _His body went limp as a shocking realization hit him. _'Do I- do I have two personalities?'_ He fell back into the repositioned armchair in an undignified flop and stared back at the steel door that was slightly ajar.

Red, pulsating light still shone out from behind its mysterious frame.

His realizations were enough to distract him from the wall that showed his alter ego's point of view who was descending to the locker rooms at the prompting of the Irish manager.

"Well Harry, there's a couple things we're going to have to address before we can move along here." The sound of the manager's voice, which was surprisingly a British accent, caused Harry to end his one-sided staring contest with the door and return his full attention to the wall.

He resigned himself to seeing where this would all go. He was in too much shock at his new outlook on his own mind that he couldn't find the energy to question anything right now. It was all just… just… there were no words for the feelings he was experiencing. Bewilderment, shock, disgust, anger, jealousy, there was so many different feelings he could hardly differentiate between any of them. So he just sat there, lost in his own world as the images kept playing out in front of him.

There was a locker room setting now. The walls were all a deep Irish green while the fourteen lockers were all a bright white. Each individual locker had the last name of one of the players across the top in golden lettering.

As the rest of the team trailed into locker room they all made their way to their own lockers.

Through the wall he could see that the Irish team was furious, whether it be because of the embarrassing performance their reserves had put on, or the fact that they now had to rely on the help of a fourteen year old to win the World Cup.

The portly, and now sweaty and red faced, Irish manager turned to Harry's rogue body and ignored the angry looks that his team was sending him. Clearly the Irish didn't really like their manager if their stares were any indication.

"First of all, we have discovered through a long discussion with Mr. Mostafa that it is a rule violation for citizens to play on a Quidditch team. So in order to allow you to play you actually have to sign on for a single game, under contract, to play with the Irish National team as the reserve Seeker. Is that alright with you?"

Even though he couldn't see his body's face through the wall's perspective Harry could still tell that a feral grin was spread across the face of the stranger in his body.

"Sound good to me. Where do I sign?" Were the words that echoed in the replica of the Gryffindor common room.

Harry watched in stony silence as the manager pulled out a contract from nowhere and held it out towards the-the… the different him.

"You know what this means right? You are the youngest professional Quidditch player ever now! Even younger than Krum! This'll be worldwide news for Quidditch fans everywhere." The manager started rambling on about greatness and whatnot but the other him didn't seem to care much as the wall showed his hands sign the paper with a flourish, the name 'Harry James Potter' shining in red ink.

"Welcome aboard Potter, any questions before you suit up?" asked the manager, who Harry had noticed was named Seymour from his signature on the contract.

"Does the audience know what's happening?" was the monotone reply.

"Oooh yes, Mostafa made sure to explain everything while we were in here I'm sure. He's good like that."

"Hn, so why are you actually letting me play?" Harry was really starting to get sick of his own voice echoing around him. Especially this monotone that had some sort of hidden angry and viscous undercurrent to it.

"Don't you want to play? I figured it would be every kid's dream!" Seymour answered with another question as he led Harry to a new locker that had just magically appeared after signing the contract. The letters spelling 'Potter' in gold, sparkled in the dim lighting.

"I love Quidditch, and I realize you all needed another player in order to finish the game and probably win, but come on. I'm Harry Potter, are you sure you don't have some ulterior motive?"

Seymour looked uncomfortable now, but Harry missed the rest of his reaction to his body's words as the wall image changed to a pure green, and a rustling cloth sound was heard.

"Well, let's just leave it at your Minister thought it would be good publicity shall we? No more questions, they expect you all back out on the pitch soon." Seymour waddled away, leaving Harry to watch as his counterpart continued to get ready, finishing adjusting his robes and beginning to strap on his pads.

It was creepy, watching your body through your own perspective but not being able to control it.

The picture on the wall moved and Harry was suddenly looking right into his own smirking face, the mirror on the back of the locker sporting his name reflecting his new specter's image right back at him.

Bright Irish green robes with white detailing outlined a thin frame with whipcord like muscles that were lightly flexing and relaxing smoothly. Sleek black leather pads snugly protected his ankles, knees, chest, elbows, and hands, leaving the shoulders bare since all Seekers needed all of the rotary movement available to the arm.

But it was the eyes that really set this new Harry apart from the one that was watching. Hard emeralds stared straight though him; a small knowing smirk sat upon his own lips and mocked him. He saw when the 'other' him cocked his head to the side in a curious gesture, but the smile never left his face.

"Well this is new… You've never bothered to watch before. I wonder what's changed…" Even though it was whispered in the real world, the voice of the darker Harry that he was watching rang throughout the room and reverberated through his skull.

He was stunned speechless, his mouth that was slightly ajar before was now hanging open in surprise. If he had been standing up, his legs would have given out at the shock of being directly addressed while trapped within his own mind took hold.

"Hmph, I see you can't respond just yet. Pathetic really, but I shouldn't be surprised. You were always weak and cowardly, it's even half of the reason that I'm here in the first place so I probably shouldn't complain too much. I guess we might see each other later but I kind of hope not for fear of strangling you for being such a bitch. Anyway, I'm about to go and defend our reputation, so wish me luck!"

And with that the whispered and one-sided conversation was over. The Harry on the wall turned sharply on his heel and the picture showed him snatching a Firebolt off of the teams' rack and placing it on his shoulder before he strode out of the locker room with confidence and met his new teammates in the long hallway leading out to the stadium.

Troy stepped out in front of the rest of the group to meet him.

"Listen up kid, we don't need you. You are here to fill a spot so that we don't forfeit, that's it. I don't want you trying to fly around and match pace with Krum since you will probably die and I don't think that your Ministry will be pleased about that. So I am deadly serious when I say: 'Do not try and play.' I want you to just stay in one spot and hover until Krum finally ends this. He's flying like a demon out there to defend what reputation his team has left, since he knows he can't win against my Chasers anymore. And I doubt that he will have much sympathy if you get in his way. Got it?"

Harry watched the scene play out from his position on the cushy armchair, and as he watched Troy speak it was hard to tell but he could have sworn that the room was getting warmer even though he physically didn't feel any different. The red light that had been gently fading in and out from the slightly open door had begun to pulse so fast and erratically that Harry was sure that if light had emotion it would be super angry at that moment.

But the light stopped and returned to its natural pace almost as fast as it had appeared and the invisible hot feeling that blanketed the room melted away.

"Fine, I'll play your way then. But if shit hits the fan it's not my fault and you better be ready to eat your words. You got that?"

Harry felt an insane urge to curl up in on himself and hide. The angry words spilling from his own mouth that weren't actually his own words made him wish that he couldn't see everything that was happening anymore. He would never say things like that.

Bad things happened when you asked questions or got angry… right?

A new image of a dog barreling towards him with loud snaps of its jaws at every step it took appeared on the wall, overlapping the scene of the outside world.

'_NO!'_ Harry willed the probable-memory away before he could recognize anything else. _'I still have to be careful in this room too I guess.'_ He thought, and cleared his mind of any random thoughts that might trigger something again.

So Harry decided to watch the rest of the match in silence, his mind free of questions. He knew deep down that it was a cowardly thing to do. He was basically shutting down his own mind in order to cope since he couldn't retreat any further than he usually did, but it was okay.

He was a freak after all…

* * *

Okay, first of all I apoligize. I'm like a week late on my update but there's a few good reasons.

Firstly, I just moved in with four other friends of mine because we all go to the same school and it made sense... but unfortunately or fortunately we decided to throw a four day party starting last thursday night and it's sort of still going... and then I had work since I'm a workaholic and work for 60 odd hours a week there hasnt really been much time for the story.

But alas, since friday morning I have been working and actually this is only part of a chapter that got away from me and went and became like... 16k words... so yeah, I'm splitting it up and this is the first part.

I expect to get the next half out by late tonight or early tomorrow depending on how I feel about it since I've actually rewritten this one section that just doesn't want to be written around six time now.

But enough about my problems.

REVIEW!

Shower me with your flames, compliments, and thoughts! I'm officially addicted to reviews. 51 now after just 9,000 words! It gives me hope you guys, hope that one day I'll be up there with the big guys on the first few pages of highest reviewed stories. So thanks for reading, hope everyone enjoyed. (You can all thank Slyther1nHermione for PMing me and kicking my ass into gear to write this)

Peace out,  
-Glass


	4. Up In Flames

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

This chapter is unbeta'd for now but I'm in the market for them if someone is interested, i'll go through this with a fine tooth comb later... i'm tiredzzzzzzzzzzz

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**Harry's Inner Dragon**

**By: TheGlassKatana**

**Chapter 3 - Up In Flames**

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Hermione was freaking out. The last thirty minutes were so freaking crazy!

What irked her the most was that it was Harry that just had to be picked out of millions of wizards to play Quidditch in the world cup.

_'Honestly! The statistical probability of Harry-fucking-Potter to be picked is astronomical! The likelihood of having seven injured players, that not even magic was able to fix enough for them to play again, __them picking Harry-which just compounds the odds-was ridiculously unlikely.'_

Hermione's angry thoughts swirled violently though her mind. And her thoughts continued on this vein the entire time that Harry was gone in the locker rooms. She didn't even realize that her eyes were downcast and unintentionally staring into the back of Fleur's silvery-haired head while a distinctly angry frown was resting on her lips.

_'This is probably her fault.'_ Hermione's thought inspired by where her gaze had been resting,_ 'it's not fair! She's known Harry all of an hour and he already pays more attention to her than me. What am I doing wrong? Am I ugly? Is it the smarts I have?'_

Hermione's mood was on a downwards free-fall as her thoughts became more and more self-deprecating. But her newfound knowledge in the psychological fields reared its head as the urges to hyper rationalize her feelings kicked in. It was a trait that many people who had emotional instability combined with a keen intellect did. 'Rationalize and compartmentalize' was the motto for this personality that she found in her books.

_'I still think it's all her fault, but I love Harry more than anything else. Besides, it's not his fault. It's not the real Harry out there anyway. If he has more than one personality then this one must just be one of his many traits that has been exaggerated into a personality. Most likely his romantic side if his attitude was anything to go by.'_ She was definitely still upset that Harry's romantic side didn't choose her over the half-Veela, but her desire to see Harry whole won out over her anger.

_'It doesn't matter, I will fix him, he will be a whole person… and he will be mine.'_ Hermione's face lit up with a dark glee and a seriously wicked grin. But it quickly vanished as the Irish team retook the field.

Her own Omnioculars were driven into her eye sockets in her haste to find Harry, and once she located that shock of black hair she immediately flicked the switch on the Omni's to 'follow' mode. The new mode allowed the Omni's to always be watching whoever they were locked onto so that the viewer wouldn't' lose track of them while they flew at high speeds.

Looking very closely she scrutinized the new seeker for a few moments, admiring the strong gait that the other Harry never moved with. This Harry was clearly the aggressive version from earlier and the one that she had seen glimpses of on the walk to the portkey.

Mostafa the referee took the center of the field, once again holding the quaffle under his arm. Hermione remembered how just a moment ago the balding man had told the entire crowd of Harry's involvement. She had seen how Ron had instantly become withdrawn and how his eyes had darkened with bitter jealousy.

But Ron was nothing compared to the roaring comments of the crowd. Ireland fans were furious, Bulgarian fans were hopeful, Hogwarts students were excited, and the rest of the world sat in mild shock for a few minutes before huddling together and whispering about the international celebrity that was taking the field.

Those were all things of the past however as the players mounted their brooms and took off, coming to gently hover in a full circle around the center of the pitch. Hermione was amazed at the control that Harry showed, easily rivaling that of the professionals around him.

The crowd's murmurs, that had started ever since he had walked out onto the field, intensified. As if they were expecting him to have fallen off the moment he mounted the broom.

Hermione scoffed briefly at their ignorance before turning back to watch Harry.

_'They don't understand anything. Harry, even broken mentally, is still the greatest seeker the world has ever seen. I don't think anybody at school even realizes that he holds himself back as much as he does.'_

She knew though.

Hermione knew so much about Harry it scared her sometimes, until that is, she remembered that Harry was her's and that she needed to know everything about him.

But when she watched him play Quidditch... that was where he slipped up the most regarding his split characters. The character that had taken over now was the one that was aggressive; it was the one that saved her. It was the one that battled for the Stone, the one she could only assume had killed a basilisk, and the one she had watched take over next to the lake and summon one of the strongest magical structures she had ever seen or read about.

But this personality also loved Quidditch. She knew it, and when the personality had played all by himself one time at the burrow, while she was secretly watching, she had witnessed some amazing feats.

_'Just show them Harry!'_ Hermione thought with conviction, her cheeks heating up at her own inner brazenness.

She was disappointed however when Harry didn't do anything once the match started. Mostafa threw the quaffle up and the chasers dove for it, the Bulgarians intent on trying to make a comeback and the Irish determined to keep it out of reach long enough for Krum to catch the snitch.

Harry just flew lazily, high above the entire stadium, far out of the reach of any of the action occurring below him. Hermione's mind quickly deduced that Harry was _meant_ to be a showpiece rather than a player and righteous indignation swelled in her chest.

_'How dare they shunt him away like that!'_

This performance went on for another few minutes; the pace of the players below Harry was intense. Professional Quidditch was not for the faint of heart. Players flew at breakneck speeds, always in the danger of collisions that would send them to their quick and probably painless death. Even as she watched, the Irish chasers bobbed and weaved into the melee of the Bulgarians combination of three chasers, two bludgers, two beaters, and Krum who was running interference.

Troy passed to Moran while dodging Dimitrov's swipe at the quaffle by performing a high speed barrel roll. Moran completed the give and go by immediately passing it back as he leapt above a speeding bludger, separating himself from his broom in midair and expertly landing back into a perfect sitting position when the bludger had passed.

Troy flew through the two beaters, Quaffle in hand, with only a hairs breadth of space to speak of, dodging the swing of a beater's club from Vulchanov in the process.

The Captain of the Irish team rocketed up the field, his body flat against his broom handle as he visibly pushed for more speed. Krum came out of nowhere and attempted a solid body block but Mullet, knowing that his fellow chaser was in trouble, flew quickly into an assisting position while avoiding the Bulgarian Ivanova who tried to move to intercept.

Troy chucked the quaffle once again, into the direction of Mullet, while letting go of his broom completely and starting to plummet towards the unforgiving embrace of the Earth.

Hermione watched Harry watch Troy as Troy continued to fall to his death. Mullet caught the quaffle and barreled down the field. The entire stadium tried to scream out at the ref to do something to stop the fall, but everyone quieted as Troy's hand shot out and his voice echoed ominously through the stadium.

"Accio Firebolt!" Instantly in response to his command his Firebolt that was falling alongside him righted itself and seemed to fly on its own right into his hand. Troy wrestled himself on top of the broom and pulled up just before hitting the ground and splattering himself everywhere.

Hermione saw through the Omnioculars as Harry watched every moment, his eyes were watching everything with an intensity that seemed to watch every second and burn it into memory. When Troy had used wandless magic to pull his broom to him, Harry's eyes had narrowed to a degree where they were only slits. But in the next moment Harry was back to normal, gently floating slowly around above everyone else.

The crowd had played to the Irish' tune during the entire debacle, gasping in all the right places. Hermione could only think of them as sheep but she was still too busy watching Harry to bother herself.

The whole time that Troy had been falling, Mullet raced down the field, unconcerned about his teammate, and came upon the Bulgarian Keeper who was desperately moving from side to side as Mullet used a combination of body language and eye movement to fake which goal he was aiming for, never sticking to one very long.

Mullet flew closer, his arm cocking back, his shoulders aiming for the right hoop while his waist said the left and his eyes were directed towards the middle one. Zograf, the keeper, who had been tricked all night long by the skill of the Irish chose to guard the right hoop, but as soon as he made a move towards the right hoop every facet of Mullet snapped towards the left and the quaffle whipped out of his hand, flying true and soaring through the left hoop.

The score was now four hundred and ten to forty, there was just no way that Bulgaria was going to win.

Krum looked enraged, almost to the point of foaming at the mouth and losing his mind. It was kind of scary to see such a mild-mannered young man on the ground turn into the raging and furious one that flew through the sky.

_'Maybe all Quidditch players have a split personality…'_ Hermione thought in humor, knowing that it was really just adrenaline and the heat of the moment that turned sports players into different people, or at least that's what the books said.

But Krum in his rage seemed to lose rational thought as he directed his ire towards the one person on the Irish team who hadn't done anything yet. It was as if he was angry that this kid with seemingly no talent was playing against him on a team that was kicking his Nation's asses.

To Krum, Hermione assumed, it must be somewhat of an insult to have such an inexperienced opponent. Or at least that's what she would come to realize as she watched the next few events play out.

Krum flew over and spoke to one of his beaters for a moment, gesturing towards Harry. A few seconds later and Krum flew up next to Harry and started trailing him from behind. Soon after the beater started herding a bludger towards the two of them, bringing the most violent of the three types of Quidditch balls higher up into the air.

Now in pro Quidditch, everything was much faster paced, and this included the bludgers. Bludgers in the pro leagues were charmed much more powerfully than at the school league levels, so much stronger that they would actually be able to keep up with a Firebolts max speed. It made beaters a much more integral part of the game and made dodging skill much more valued in individual players.

So when the beater, Volkov if Hermione remembered correctly, drew his club back and struck the bludger straight into Harry's flight path and when Krum moved to block Harry off so that he would be forced to take the bludger hit head on, Hermione's stomach dropped with dread.

The bludger was so fast.

The audience's heads were all upturned towards the new development, their mouths inexplicably silent at the new Irish Seeker's first test of skill.

The game below seemed to pause as every player got caught up in the moment, expecting to see a bloody celebrity soon flying through the air without a broom. Well, except for the three Irish Chasers who took the momentary lull to score another three goals—never say they weren't dedicated.

Hermione's hands were pushing the magical binoculars so hard into her face, she was sure she would have bruises the next day.

The bludger shot closer and closer towards Harry and a few screams echoes in the silent stadium as the impact was inevitable at this point. Hermione watched with horror, as the bludger was just on top of him. She saw through the slow motion feature of the Omni's as Harry's face went from one of blank comprehension to a dangerous grin.

His hand darted up to his chest, just where the bludger was about to hit, and when it did hit he took it straight to the palm of his hand. And like some crazy ferris Wheel, Harry rolled around the axis of his broom¸ the bludgers momentum keeping it in his hand the whole time as he spun. Once he reached the one hundred and eighty degree point of his roll, making him upside down, the bludger flew from his hand, rocketing straight back towards the stunned into immobility Volkov and slamming into his chest.

The sound of breaking bones rang out and Volkov was propelled off of his broom and into the hands of his fellow beater, Vulchanov, who had moved to try and intercept the retaliation that Harry had enacted.

A whistle was blown, Mostafa calling for an injury timeout when blood started to leak from Volkov's nose and mouth, dribbling down and mixing with the scarlet Quidditch robes he was dressed in.

A subtitle showed up in Hermione's Omnioculars, 'The Iron Wheel'. Clicking one of the knobs on the side of the expensive eyewear a description of the professional level bludger counter move flashed up into her left eye.

_First performed by Joey Iron of the U.S. team in 1867, The Iron Wheel is a move that utilizes expert timing and exceptional strength to palm an incoming bludger with one hand, spin about the broom using the opposite hand, and then launch the bludger back into the same flight path it had first arrived on. The move is considered to be the third hardest beater counter in professional Quidditch, as the bludger is capable of shattering a hand upon initial impact and the g-force exerted on the body during the roll is beyond the norm for Quidditch players. It takes years of training the human body to be able to execute this move to perfection. PERFORM WITH EXTREME CAUTION._

It seemed that the rest of the audience that had Omnioculars had just read the same thing that Hermione had as exclamations of amazement started to be heard along with people not fortunate enough to possess Omni's were quickly told what move Harry had just performed.

But Hermione was enraptured with Harry too much to notice the rest of the audience anymore. Her cheeks had already heated up at Harry's showing of prowess. She had almost squeaked when he injured Volkov, for some reason Harry's violence had only heated her body more.

She watched Harry's moving lips closely as he spoke to himself. She had watched him from afar enough to have already learned how to read his lovely lips. From what she could see he had spoken only one sentence.

"I told him shit was going to hit the fan."

But that one sentence seemed to be enough for Harry as he kicked it into high gear. Clearly he was fed up with watching the play of others and now that someone had initiated contact with him he was not going to play the meek little celebrity anymore.

No, now Harry was playing to his full potential, and Hermione loved it!

Harry dove straight down, arm outstretched as if in a move to catch the snitch, before the arm snapped back to the broom handle and he sped up dramatically, jetting towards the bottom of the pitch in a clear race to the snitch. Krum sensing an even more embarrassing future if this little boy caught the snitch out from under his nose, put on the afterburners as he pushed his broom to the limit straight towards the ground.

The Bulgarian seeker gained quickly, his eyes darting around the area in front of the opposing raven-haired seeker, madly looking for the snitch. It was only at the last moments before he would hit the ground that Krum realized he was being fooled.

He pulled up and slowed down as much as possible but in the end he was forced to watch as Harry spun and pushed his broom up, his hanging black locks brushing the turf as he skidded out of his amazingly convincing Wronski Feint in a clear show of superior skill levels.

Krum collided with the Earth hard, face first, and the sound of his crunching nose was heard only by Harry.

Before any medical team could even reach Krum, he had already stood up and gotten back on his broom. His nose was ruined, it was split like a broken tree branch that had just been alive and the bark was holding together the two pieces of stick that were left. Skin held the cartilage to his face but anyone could tell that it was just hanging there, bleeding profusely.

Krum looked to be more embarrassed than hurt honestly, as he raced straight after Harry.

Hermione meanwhile was looking up the move that Harry had just pulled off.

_The Wronski Feint – Dangerous Seeker Diversion. The seeker darts downwards, making the opposing Seeker believe that he or she has seen the Snitch. The first seeker pulls out of the dive at the last minute, hopefully causing his opponent to injure themselves when they hit the ground. MEDIUM-HARD SEEKER SKILL._

The game progressed more and more after that. Krum played aggressively, trying to pay Harry back in kind for his trickery. There was one point where Krum was so fed up with Harry dodging all of his obvious blatchings and threw a punch right at Harry's face and missed.

The words 'Translyvanian Tackle' popped up on the screen.

_First seen at the World Cup of 1473, this is a face punch aimed at the nose. As long as contact is not made, the move is not illegal, although it is difficult to pull off when both parties are on speeding broomsticks. NOT RECOMMENDED AS IT USUALLY RESULTS IN ACTUAL VIOLENCE._

But Harry had dodged expertly with a textbook 'Sloth Grip Roll'. And even though Hermione knew what it was she clicked the knob once again.

_The Sloth Grip Roll—Hanging upside down off the broom, gripping tightly with hands and feet to avoid a hit from another player or bludger._

Harry's prowess was slowly making the crowd go wild. He wasn't like any other seeker. Seekers, who were generally sleek and slightly fragile, were built for speed. They would almost always stay on the outskirts of the game, trying to catch a glimpse of gold that represented the snitch. But Harry played the exact opposite way. He flew directly into all of the main conflicts, helping curb opposing players out of the way of his own Chasers using strategic positioning.

It was a level of play that he had never showed at Hogwarts and all of the students in the crowd were flabbergasted as his skill made itself physically known on the playing field.

Harry enmeshed himself expertly amongst his teammates. He guided bludgers that were trailing him right to his own beaters paths, allowing them to knock them straight into the Bulgarians who were losing morale so quickly it was obscene. Harry's rallying play style made the game so one sided that the Bulgarian chasers were slowly losing the will to even attempt to play.

And the even crazier thing about the whole thing, Hermione thought, was_ 'Harry's getting even better…'_

It was surreal.

The new Irish Seeker was slowly getting faster and faster, his body almost seemed to glow with suppressed energy as his Firebolt reached new levels of speed, beginning to outfly even Krum with his extreme levels of practice.

Hermione could only wonder and postulate the reasons for the sudden improvements in Harry's speed. And it even looked as if Harry's body was getting slightly larger as well.

It was during one of his many ventures through the throng of players in the middle of the field that Hermione saw a sudden widening of those still diamond shaped eyes that had started to glow a dark green. The eyes darted off to the side, quickly followed by Harry himself as he broke off of the diversion maneuver he had been in the middle of.

A speck of gold appeared towards the Bulgarian goal posts, Harry in close pursuit. The crowd went wild as the first signs of the end of the match appeared.

The golden Snitch had finally made itself known and the most action packed part of any Quidditch game had begun.

Hermione could see that Krum had long ago given up trying to tail Harry through his wild trips through so many players. He was trained to spot the Snitch and catch it with only a slight emphasis on running interference, not in the unorthodox new Seeker style that Harry had been using. Running constant interference and making wild moves across the entire stadium, all the while still constantly looking for the Snitch.

The shear amount of processing power needed by the brain to analyze every bit of stimulus and react accordingly, all the while still playing strategically and looking for the Snitch would be enormous. Most people would probably pass out while trying it for a prolonged period of time.

_'Even I would probably have a headache after a while. No wonder Krum was just focusing on the Snitch.'_ The bushy haired brunette smiled,_ 'And even though Krum was doing what Seekers should do, it was my Harry that saw it first.'_ Her heart swelled with pride at her unrequited love's prowess.

* * *

_'This is insane! I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die.'_ was the mantra that kept repeating over and over in young Harry's mind.

At first he couldn't even watch the game through his wallside point of view. The speed at which that players flew made him dizzy. The extreme height that the players reached made him nauseated. And the violence that was on display as the Bulgarians got angrier and angrier at losing made him extremely uncomfortable.

His face was hidden in his hands more times than he could count, every time that his other persona-which he had aptly named Red simply because of the wierd glow coming out of the slightly opened door that he could only assume was associated with this copy of himself-would look down while floating lazily above everyone else he had shut his eyes against the nausea that would assault him.

And when Krum had launched his plan of attack with Volkov he had nearly soiled himself. That bludger looked dangerous, and for the second when the bludger had impacted against Red's hand, he thought that his life was over.

But amazingly they had both survived, the view of the wall was a blur of color as Red spun around his broom and the world was only percievable in sharp lines of color, and then he was upright again, the bludger hurtling towards the original aggressor and pegging him in the chest.

An involuntary whoop of delight escaped his lips as Volkov got what was coming to him.

One of his hands came up and slapped over his mouth in horror..

_'What? No, this is scary not exciting. What is wrong with me?'_ Harry was almost disgusted with himself as he realized that he had just thought that a fellow human being deserved to get injured. _'I'm not violent. I am not like Red! Red is evil, I'm just a coward. What is going on?'_

His questions sat in his mind for all of a few seconds before being forgotten as once again words echoed around the room. "I told him shit was going to hit the fan."

It was the last thing that would be heard before the Wall of Viewing became all but a blur for a long period of time. Harry could only imagine that Red had started to actually play the game instead of hovering above it. All of a sudden the ground appeared before him, getting closer and closer as if the ground itself was coming up to meet him.

He screamed out when he saw through the wall that he was so close he was almost guaranteed to smash into it. He could almost feel when Red went into an upside down spiral and forced the broom up into the air with veins beginning to appear over the arms that forced the broom to level out.

It was an absolutely incredible feat to pull off. And Harry was able to watch as Red looked over to watch Krum attempt to pull up and then end up face planting into the unforgiving turf.

It was with an odd sense of euphoria that Harry started to get into the match. That last Wronski Feint forcing even him to admit that this other him knew what he was doing. His skill on a broom was obvious, and for even the cowardly Harry to be afraid of just watching began to seem even far fetched to him.

The Harry in the armchair didn't notice when strands of red light began to repeat their actions from before, and proceeded to emerge from the cracks in the steel door and floated over and began attaching themselves to his back.

If someone were watching it happen they would notice that Harry's demeanor and cowardice were slowly fading away as more and more strands attached to him.

He was really getting into Red's performance now. He could feel excitement building in his abdomen as the other him weaved in and out of players with skillful precision.

The Harry watching everything through Red's eyes noticed offhandedly that the arms that were holding the broom in front of him had started to gently glow, but didn't really pay much attention to it as Red had seemed to kick into an even higher gear. The sound of whistling wind started to permeate through the walls of the room as the speed his doppleganger was moving at doubled.

The Wall of Viewing became clearer even with the increased speed and Harry could feel a slight pounding starting at the back of his eye sockets.

If he had bothered to look down he would have seen that the red strands had started to cover his front now, cutting bright red veins of light down his arms.

Then the flash of gold lit up the screen as Red's vision zoned in on the speck of gold near the Bulgarian's goalposts.

Harry scooted forward to the edge of his seat as the race for the Snitch was on. Red pealed out of the mess of green and scarlet jerseys and made a beeline for the snitch. The edges of the wall went hazy as the speed of movement increased yet again.

The Snitch was just in front of him now, Red's hand reached out from his broom and made for the small fluttering golden sphere.

The image in the vision shook violently as Krum made his prescense known, shouldering himself into position beside Red and causing the reaching hand to go wide.

"Hey! He almost had it. That's got to be a foul!" Harry exclaimed heatedly to no one in particular, jumping from his seat and moving even closer to the wall, absorbing every detail. Excitement and adrenaline flowed in his body now, he felt invested in this game, as if through Red he would be able to prove something to everyone in the audience.

It was with bated breath that Harry watched the Snitch dive down, Red and Krum in close pursuit and still fighting each other for better position.

The Snitch pulled out of its dive, skimming the bottom of the pitch in an epic dash away from the two Seekers who were determined to end this entirely one-side atrocity of a game. It ended its mad low altitude flight right in the middle of the field as the Snitch decided to take to the air once again, making a complete ninety degree angle as it shot straight into the sky.

Krum and Red were in sync as they both smoothly pulled up hard and rocketed into the air after the shimmering golden fleck.

Players from both sides were forced back into motion as they scattered out of the way of the two smallest players that were moving far faster than any of them were capable of.

The two seekers continued their mad flight for the Snitch, both flying higher than the stands, causing the necks of the audience to crane backwards in order to watch.

Harry was jumping up and down in anticipation. "Go, go, go, go..." punctuating each small leap. Little did he know that he was now covered head to foot in glowing red strands of magic. He was so wrapped up in the excitement he didn't have the presence of mind to notice that Red also seemed to glow a brighter shade of scarlet as well.

Red was slowly pulling away from Krum, he could do it!

His arm reached out, just a few feet from the Snitch, Krum falling just a few scant inches behind.

He was so close now, Red's hand was stretching out as much as it could as the Snitch began to slow, as if finally tired of trying to avoid capture. The view on the wall showed that Red's chin was resting on the broom handle in an effort to be as streamlined as possible.

"GO!" Harry yelled with an extra large jump. But as soon as he did yell he knew it was a mistake.

* * *

Fleur couldn't help but be impressed with Harry's play. It was fast and aggressive, controlled yet powerful. It was everything a professional Quidditch player should be, and she couln't help but to admire, for the second time that night, this young man's visible prowess on a broom.

And when he had started to glow it showed up with even more of a contrast to her, as her charmed vision was still in place. As soon as he had started to take on a slightly red hugh she had been both confused and curious.

The slight panting from behind her had distracted her for only a moment from Harry's amazing performance. The silver haired half-Veela turned in her seat and saw a shorter and very bushy haired young lady with Omnioculars being visibly rammed into her eyes. It was this young girl who had been panting in her seat, clearly watching Harry closely.

Fleur could see her knees rubbing together every once and a while and she knew enough about her own gender to recognize the obvious signs of arousal. Passing it off a just another case, if rather extreme, of hero worship she turned back to the game.

Harry flew spectacularly, darting in and out of players so quickly she herself found a slight feeling of worry pierce her stomach.

_'If he gets himself killed I'll never forgive him. He hasn't told me how he can block my allure yet!'_

Her magically enhanced eyes watched as the focus of her night began his race with Krum for the small game-ending ball.

Her eyes widened dramatically and her breath hitched in her throat as both of the smaller bodied Seekers jetted upwards. Her neck was forced into an arch as they zoomed out of the pitch, passing the top booth in the blink of an eye.

A gasp of surprise fell from her open mouth when Harry's red glow tripled in brightness, most likely even visible to the weaker eyes of the masses.

Amazement was the primary emotion running through her when Harry pulled away from the famous Bulgarian sensation and was just a second away from winning the World Cup.

That was when it happened. Fleur watched stunned as Harry's head darted up, a look of slgiht surprise breaking through the constant grin he had been wearing all night. The action of moving his head broke his streamline, causing his aerodynamics to be thrown off and his speed to dramatically reduce.

It was only for a split second, but it was enough for Krum to now be in the lead.

Fleur heard the noise of confusion echo out from the brown haired girl behind her as Harry threw his head back down, madly trying to make up the lost distance between himself and the Bulgarian.

Their roles had reversed, Krum and Harry were now in opposite positions to the ones they had held only a second previously.

If Fleur could have been flying next the the still ascending duo she would have seen the look of terrifying fury that was completely out of place on Harry's young face.

Fleur didn't think she could be surprised anymore that night. So many completely unprecented things had already happened that she thought in the back of her mind that she had been completely desensitized to any more crazy happenings.

She would be proven wrong however, when a feral scream richoched and echoed so loudly through the stadium it even drowned out the sound of the screaming Bulgarian fans.

The scream had come from Harry, and her charmed eyes observed in slow motion as all of the bright red aura that the Boy-Who-Lived had been generating centralized in his feet before blasting out in a violent explosion of red strands of magic, reminding her eerily of a firework exploding in a flaming ball of glory.

Four things happened in quick succession after that.

Harry's Firebolt fell from his hands as the teenager was propelled like a rocket into the sky, passing Krum in a nanosecond and approaching the flagging Snitch at a speed that should have killed him.

The pulsating red strands of magic descended towards the stands, breaking off into exactly thirty-two separate paths and homing in on each and every person with Veela blood coursing through their bodies at a speed equal to that of the flying Harry.

Fleur herself could only watch, knowing she was too slow to dodge, as the red strand slammed into her chest and disappeared, the action repeated on her mother and every other Veela that was down on the pitch below.

As soon as the strand disappeared, every Veela-blooded female burst into their full blooded avian forms. Fleur felt as feathers were forced painfully from her skin, her nose morphing into a beak, her vision becoming focused and zoomed in even as bright hot flames exploded from her hands and started making their way up her body.

The last thing she saw with her now enhanced avian and magical vision, before flames enveloped her whole body, was Harry's outstretched fingers closing around the bright golden Snitch.

* * *

Alright ladies and gents, this chapter was extremely hard to write and I'm not exactly sure why. I know I should have had it out Sunday but I just couldn't release it like it was. It's probably been rewritten like seven times but it is what it is.

As always, please REVIEW, and let me know what you think.

_Next Chapter Preview (tentatively to be released Friday):_

_All combined these elements made the allure do what it did, compel men to try and immediately mate with the Veela._

_Originally it had been a defensive mechanism. Born thousands of years ago when rape and pillaging was common and the world was in the middle of being conquered by various foreigners, the allure was something a witch had originally thought up in order to defend herself. Using compulsions delivered with magically created pheromones released from her own body in concentrated doses._

_It made men bow before her, drool at her feet, and become putty in her hands._

_But she didn't test her process before performing it on herself, and unfortunately for her, the spells she used to make her body produce the proper pheromones were permanent._

_And thus the Veela were born. The witch had children and all of her female progeny were forever cursed..._


	5. After Effects

WOOHOO! I'm back, did you miss me? Yeah, sorry about that… as usual, I'll have a brief note at the bottom.

AAANNNNDDD... HOLY FUCKING SHIT! Woot! 100 reviews! Thanks to Sleeper 3173 for being that reviewer!

And a quick shout out to SlytherInHermione and mendokusei who got me going again.

Seriously people, this story wouldn't be half as original if there wasn't a weak harry... so just deal with it for a little longer... its a process

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Alright-y, we're finally wrapping up the World Cup, let's see how it goes shall we?

* * *

_PREVIOUSLY:_

_The last thing she saw with her now enhanced avian and magical vision, before flames enveloped her whole body, was Harry's outstretched fingers closing around the bright golden Snitch._

* * *

**Harry's Inner Dragon**

**By: TheGlassKatana**

**Chapter 4 - After Effects**

* * *

One of the loudest and most bestial screams he had ever heard rattled the walls so hard that the room shook like there was an earthquake.

Harry fell to the floor of the fake Gryffindor Common Room in a dead slump as the red energy exploded from his skin and raced out of the room, flying off into the inky blackness he had originally come from at a blistering pace that probably rivaled that of a Firebolt's top speed.

He felt exhausted, as if he had just run a marathon and then had to battle a Nundu right after. He didn't think that he had ever been this tired in his entire life. Even his vision was fading in and out, a shade of blackness encroaching from his peripherals.

The Wall of Viewing had gone blank and returned to it's original white color the moment the energy had left him. He no longer had any way of knowing what was going on outside of his mind.

"So here we are at last." A voice that was the same as his own came from the doorway and pulled his attention away from the floor. Harry looked to the door... and there he was, in all of his doppelganger glory.

The messy black mop of hair was tousled from the high winds he had been playing at. His lithe body that possessed the fluid grace of a skilled fighter was casually leaning against the doorway. His arms were crossed in front of his chest and instead of his usual smirk, a decidedly upset frown marred his features.

"Did we win?" Was the surprising response from the Harry on the floor, even surprising himself with his single mindedness towards the Quidditch outcome.

Even as he said it he realized that he wasn't quite the same person that had walked into this room, he was different somehow. He could tell that he was a separate entity from the weak and frightened him.

How could he tell? Well, because the feelings of calm and assured confidence that he possessed a few moments ago were slowly fading away. Just seconds previously he was confident that he and Red would win the Quidditch game, he was excited even at the prospect. Those two emotions alone were unusual for him, and as he had experienced them he knew that he had changed. But now those emotions were vanishing, slowly being replaced by the fear and uncertainties that had plagued him for as long as he could remember.

The odd thing though, was that he didn't want them to go. He wanted to keep experiencing those new and foreign emotions… or did he? Those emotions didn't result in good feelings… did they? Did he really want to experience the emotions that always caused him to be let down in the end? Did he want to be the one that got so excited he let other things like rage take over? No… no he didn't, those kinds of emotion always resulted in pain for him.

And suddenly, those emotions were separated, detached, compartmentalized neatly away from his pure and innocent personality.

Only they didn't stay that way. Harry felt as they broke through his mental barrier like paper and attacked.

Thoughts ran rampant over the slight mental link that had been formed between Harry and what he assumed to be Red's personality. _'I don't want to go back inside! I can't go back! I was finally free!' _He assumed these were Red's thoughts even as his own lit up the link, _'It's my body! I've been here longer! I don't want to be angry all the time! I don't want to draw attention! I don't want to be hurt again, just go away!'_

Harry's mind was in obvious turmoil. Red watched on in still silence as he could visibly see the battle for a sense of self taking place in his other half. The back and forth between confidence and doubt was almost disturbing. But it definitely wasn't as disturbing to him as much as the fact that he could see his own right leg fading in and out of transparency.

Harry was on the edge of a complete breakdown, the conflicting thoughts and theories that ran through his head were so different. On one hand he was the kind and innocent Harry who loved to be with his friends, but on the other he was the cold and skilled Red who sought out the rush of violence and extreme flight.

There was no middle. There could be no compromise, and Harry almost lost himself completely as the two personalities collided in a battle for control over his body.

Red could feel his own personality battle inside of his weaker half and a flicker of pity flashed across his face. He felt as his own personality made a push for control and his leg became whole once again and it was now Harry's leg that started to fade from view.

What felt like hours seemed to pass as Harry continued to rock back and forth on the floor, his head being gripped strongly between his white-knuckled hands as various limbs continued to fade in and out of existence, sometimes from Red and other times from himself.

Red streaks of energy began to emerge from the Harry on the floor. The same streaks that had covered him like a second skin before. Some of them must have delved deeper into his body than just skin level. And as they were pushed out from him, he could feel the dominant personality of his body begin to make ground against the intruding one.

Ever so slowly, he pushed out the anger, the bloodlust, the craving for a challenge, and the overwhelming sense of pride and confidence.

But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't force it all out. A small part of his mind knew the feeling of not being afraid, of knowing with utter certainty that he could do whatever he set out to do. And he craved more of it. Needed more of it.

But all of the inhibitions and anxiousness that he had harbored all of his life within himself masked the need, shoved it back to where he would appear the same as he always was to others. And yet he also knew that he would never be the same, not inside at least.

It was the strangest feeling, to be whole again, and yet broken still. To know he had reclaimed his own mind but had somehow obtained a passenger. A dark passenger.

His rocking stopped and his hands gently let go of the sides of his head as they came to rest against the shag carpeting of the floor. Hesitantly, he pushed himself up off of the floor and looked almost shyly, as if he was frightened to see him, to his other self who still hadn't moved from his position at the door. A strong sense of irritation at his own weakness and hesitation welled from deep within himself but was quickly shoved back with a vengeance as Harry's mental conditioning to never get angry or upset reared up in reaction.

'_Why am I having such feelings? Because you're a pussy! Ugh, Merlin, what is wrong with me? Everything! Dear Morgana, I think I'm going crazy.' _Harry's rambling and cluttered thoughts came to an abrupt halt as his eyes snapped back into focus when Red pushed off from the doorframe and took a step towards him.

"Well, it seems your reflexes improved a little at least." Red's small little knowing smirk came back in full force once he saw that Harry was recovered from his earlier battle.

"D-Do you know what happened to me?" Harry finally noticed for once that he was stuttering—an obvious side-effect of addressing someone who even slightly intimidated him—and an irrational urge to slap himself across the face had him raise his hand halfway there before he could stop it.

Red's smirk changed into a toothy grin when he saw that Harry was about to slap some sense into himself. The effects he had seen so far were promising to say the least. "I know exactly what happened to you, or rather; to _us_ is what I should say. After all, I've been living my rather dismal existence trapped in here for the last nine years. I know everything about this place. I know everything about _you_. Your life, your memories—those you remember and those you don't—your friends, your fears, everything." Red dragged out the last word almost like a death sentence as he leaned slightly forward and sneered at his weaker counterpart.

Harry took a step backwards at the aggressive seeming movement, only to take one forward again before he could stop himself. Apparently that small part of him that brimmed with pride, confidence, and slight aggression held a stronger sway over his actions than he thought possible.

"Are you going to tell me?" Harry stated flatly, willing himself not to stutter. If not stuttering was the price he had to pay in order to not slap himself, he would pay it. It helped that when he didn't stutter that small part of his mind that had Red's personality imprinted upon it seemed to calm down.

"Oh, I would love to, but unfortunately, we're kind of in the middle of an emergency." Red raised an arm and snapped his fingers. The Wall of Viewing behind Harry lit up once image was of the starry night sky, absolutely beautiful in its clarity, every point of light shining with unique brightness against the blue-black contrast of space. But as both Harry's watched, in slow motion the stadium lights started entering the view from the bottom up.

Harry voiced a suspicion that instantly came to mind as he watched the scene. "Are we… are we _falling?"_

"Yup." Red deadpanned.

"How can you be so nonchalant right now! We're going to die!" Harry was freaking out, the image on the screen was still moving in slow motion, but as was inevitable, the rest of the stadium was slowly coming into view.

"Yup." Red said in the same deadpan, a smirk growing on his face.

'_Is he enjoying this?' _Harry cried out mentally.

"Do something! Aren't you the one who always gets me out of these kinds of situations? Don't you want to live?!" Harry's desperation had brought out a perverted sense of confidence from the other piece of his mind, and in that sense he had begun asking accusatory questions at his other half.

In a split second, nearly as fast as it took Harry to blink, Red was in front of him and he was pinned by his shoulders against the wall. Red's look was not exactly furious but it definitely wasn't friendly if the slight snarl at the edge of his mouth was anything to go by.

"I can't do anything you halfwit! You somehow broke through your own mental block and shouted out to me. I got surprised and almost lost the damn Quidditch match because of it." Red paused for a second to get his rising temper under control and Harry realized then that Red was actually more upset at himself than at him… ha! Wasn't that a confusing thought?

Harry quickly replayed the last few seconds of the match in his head and realized that when he had shouted out in excitement, right before the Wall went dark, must have been the moment Red was talking about. In that moment he had been the most excited he could ever remember being, and had somehow broken through the mental barrier between himself and Red.

Red had gotten his breathing back under control and let go of Harry's shoulders, leaving Harry to rub at them gently. Red had a seriously strong grip.

"When you yelled, I was surprised. So surprised, that little pathetic Harry Potter had done what I haven't been able to do for nine long years," Harry detected a slightly bitter note at that, "that I pulled out of my streamline and lost a lot of speed causing Krum to pull ahead."

"Wait, you said almost lost the match right?" Harry questioned, a small smile beginning to make its way onto his face as the imminent threat of falling to his death temporarily took a backseat. "So… we won?" He only half asked, happiness already seeping into his voice.

Red turned back to Harry and smiled his first true smile. It was almost queer looking on the usually severe looking Red's face. He smiled down at Harry, like he was a proud father looking upon a growing son. "Yes, _I _won." Red responded, emphasizing the 'I'.

"I was forced to pull upon our synced powers in order to gather enough of my own energy so that I could become fast enough to pull ahead and catch the Snitch, but unfortunately, in doing so I have broken my connection to the outside." Red's hands clenched into fists at his sides, "I can't go back out until the connection reforms enough for me to bridge the gap of our minds."

Harry found himself becoming more and more intrigued (and confused) with Red's speech about how their… situation? Disorder? Mental break?—well, whatever it was called, he was curious. But his curiosity was curbed as Red moved on.

"And while I would love to get into more theory about your extremely unusual mind and the people involved in its creation, the ground is getting closer and closer, even if time is severely slowed while we reside inside here." Red said, interrupting his explanation before he really explained anything as he took a quick glance at the Wall.

The Wall showed that they had fallen past the top box now, the lights of the stadium in full view, and more of the stands were becoming visible even as they stood watching.

Without warning, Red burst into movement. He grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt and dragged him quickly to the doorway that led back to the blackness he had entered from. Red whipped Harry around sharply, causing Harry's back to face the open door and his line of sight to stare directly into his counterparts.

It was the first really close look that Harry had ever gotten of those eyes, and they were hard to look away from now that he was staring at such close proximity. Those eyes commanded attention. They were darker than the shining emeralds that he always saw in the mirror, now resembling a very dark jade color. The iris had become wider but slightly less rounded at the sides and his pupils were very catlike in appearance, becoming elongated diamonds in shape.

The jades were hard with experience. All of the worst things one could experience in life, these eyes had looked upon those experiences and lived through them. The eyes exuded confidence and strength, a power that Harry had never seen in anyone, save perhaps Dumbledore, rested in those eyes.

"Now look," Harry found himself paying close attention to Red's every word, he had commanded it, and even though Harry could feel the stirrings of fear he would usually feel in a situation such as this, that small part of him that was just created knew that Red would never purposefully hurt him. "I can't save us myself, but I can do something to you that will let you walk away from this. It's going to hurt like a mother fucker and you probably won't stay conscious for very long once you take back control but you need to just follow your instincts on this. Got it?" Red asked with the utmost levels of seriousness written on his face.

This was life and death.

Harry could feel the stirrings of fear and uncertainty begin to rise as he realized just how dire the situation actually was. His conversation with Red had seemed so… relaxed, so unhurried that it had only now just set in that he was actually in some serious trouble.

He inwardly cursed Red and his ability to brush off death like it was nothing and still hold a conversation afterwards.

'_I definitely need to learn how to do that.'_ Harry's rogue thought pierced through his growing uneasiness, only causing more confusion to his already stressed out mind.

A sudden clarity overtook Harry as a primal need to survive came to life with a fiery vengeance. He didn't even think of whether or not it was really him or the imprint of Red that caused the carnal desire to live.

"Do it." Harry said with a finality that told Red he understood.

"Alright, here goes."

Red raised his right hand, keeping his other on Harry's left shoulder. Long streams of the same red energy that had made their appearance multiple times already started to squeeze themselves out from the cracked steel doorway that supposedly led to the boys dormitory, and floated to Red's upraised hand where they began to form a pulsating sphere of glowing red light.

"So what do I call you? I can't exactly keep calling you Red, it's kind of a ridiculous name." Harry said while staring at the red ball of energy that continued to grow in size.

Red chuckled, whether in amusement or downright exasperation at what Harry was calling him he didn't know. "Call me James. I'll see you soon, Hermione should be able to help you too, that girl knows too much for her own good."

And with that parting remark, the newly named James punched forward and rammed the Quaffle sized energy ball right into Harry's forehead.

The force of the collision rocketed Harry off of his feet and out of the doorway back into the blackness. He closed his eyes as a massive headache erupted behind his eyes.

* * *

Sound.

Sound was the first thing he realized he could sense again.

Pain.

Pain was the second as it ripped through his head with a violence that he had never experienced before. It was an all-encompassing pain that felt like it was splitting his skull in half.

'_...it's going to hurt like a mother fucker… won't stay conscious… follow your instincts...' _James' urgent words surfaced through the immense amount of pain he was in. His eyes snapped open out of pure will-power and slight desperation as the memory of his dire situation hit him like a freight train.

Sound had been the first thing he had heard for good reason, the entire stadium was in an uproar, women's' screams and men's' shouts were ricocheting off of the stands with an urgency that was even greater than when the game was just starting. Granted, all the noise was probably justified as there were multiple flaming Veela on the field and in the crowd, and coupled with the fact that the most famous young celebrity in Britain was falling to his death… yeah, he'd call that a justifiable situation for people to freak out.

And adding to the panicked screams were the people that had yet to even realize anything bad was happening and were cheering with abandon as Ireland had just won the World Cup by a landslide.

Altogether the stadium was a cacophony of noise that slammed into his head, causing his already mind-numbingly painful migraine to increase in strength twofold.

But all the noise and pain was forgotten as panic took over every mental faculty he possessed. Time sped back up from its slowed pace and wind howled in his ears and the sensation of falling kicked in as he plummeted to his death.

His vision went blank for a second, and the world faded from his knowledge as memories assaulted him. He was standing in a room with four white walls, his wand rested in his hand and directly across from him was a pedestal with a small crystalline dragon sculpture.

"_Accio!"_ The dragon flew off the pedestal at him, and in midair it changed into hundreds of different shapes; pillows, balls, brass, copper, iron, animals of various shapes and sizes.

His wand disappeared from his hand even as the object continued to change. Balls of light, larger objects like boulders, manikins, and finally as the object finally flew into his outstretched hand, it was a small crystalline dragon once again.

A picture of Troy with his hand outstretched, falling in slow motion, as a soundless spell escaped his lips flashed quickly after.

He came to abruptly, as information of how to complete the spell flew into his head.

He knew what to do. He had already done it hundreds-no, thousands of times over. They were his memories now, he was the one that practiced in his mind for hours on end.

His now clear eyes sought out the Firebolt that was falling next to him, his hand shot out as instinct took over and his magic flowed powerfully in a familiar pattern through his reinvigorated body.

"Accio Firebolt" he spoke clearly and without any hesitation, just as he had seen Troy do just a few minutes ago.

The falling broomstick responded instantly to his magical command. It righted itself in midair and shot towards him like a bullet.

The ground was getting closer and closer now, Harry whipped the broom between his legs with confidence…

Until he realized that this was where his muscle memory ended, he had no idea how to ride a broom, it was always James that rode, not him.

All of the confidence that he had been producing while knowing he could perform the Accio charm fell out of him along with the bottom of his stomach as fear gripped him. The ground was only seconds away.

"_PULL UP!"_ Harry didn't know where the loud voice came from, all he knew was that his headache had come back and a loud and familiar voice had told him to pull up.

Without any real thought on his part, Harry took the easy way out and pulled up. His body was put under a huge amount of force as his downward momentum reduced dramatically. It was uncontrolled and really ugly from a professional viewpoint but the maneuver worked as Harry hit the ground at a much lower speed than what would have killed him outright.

Instead of dying an ugly death, he only heard two loud cracks from the area of his right leg as his feet smacked into the ground.

His mind was overloaded with so much pain that he promptly passed out on the lush green grass of the finest Quidditch stadium Britain had ever created.

An echoing voice seemed to speak from everywhere, _"I told you I would win… Fleur."_

* * *

She was on fire…

She was on fire!

Fleur had absolutely no idea what was going on, but if she didn't get this fire under control she, and all of the people around her, would be burnt to a crisp.

She could tell that these weren't her normal flames. The flames that were born of her full-Veela transformation were confined to her hands. Never before had she experienced flames that covered her entire body.

But what was extremely disturbing to her was that these flames were very hot, and they were ever so subtly getting hotter. Her own flames never felt hot to her, if anything they felt like a cooling balm that smothered her hands.

Controlling her panic Fleur tried to control the flames like she would manipulate her own inner fire. She forced herself to get angry, to become angrier than the flames themselves. She was the flames. The half-Veela reached out with a combination of the allure and her own magic, willing the flames away with her anger.

The flames visibly wilted, and a moment of victory flushed through her system causing her for just a moment to lose sight of her anger. The calmly flickering flames that covered her body roared back to life, heating up drastically in the process.

She could feel her skin start blistering as brief flickers of pain erupted in various places across her body.

'_Oh merde, it hurts!' _Fleur was about to give up on trying to survive when her mother's voice penetrated through the inferno she was caught in.

"Fleur! Put out the flames! You need to be angry, angrier than the flames! Remember your training, don't panic! Don't let them get the best of you! Be angry Fleur!" Her mother was clearly angrier than she was. And from what she could gather had already beaten the flames back.

With a monumental effort and after strengthening her resolve she pushed the panic and growing sensation of pain out of her mind. She was at her center, completely calm, void of all emotion. A flickering flame swirled in her mind's eye, cutting through the darkness that previously occupied the space.

The void and the flame was the first step to Veela meditation, a certain way to manipulate one's own emotions in order to reach a pinnacle of anger so that the Veela form manifested as the hormones and chemicals released by an enraged person triggered the transformation.

In here there was nothing but her and the flame. She did not feel anything. No sensations, no taste, no feelings of pain or anger, no embarrassment or stray thought to speak of. She knew what she had to do, she mentally reached into the flame, sifting through the various emotions and feelings that resided within it.

When her mental probe detected the anger she was looking for she pulled deep within and began to draw it out. Heat, independent of the flames that shrouded her physical body, shot through her system as white hot anger flooded her senses.

Her closed eyes clenched in anger and slowly opened ever so slightly to the point where they were just angry slits. "ENOUGH!" she shouted, but to the people around her it came out as more of a loud screech.

The flames died instantly, snuffing themselves out without any resistance. To bystanders it would look as if the flames shrunk away as fast as they possibly could, as if they were frightened by the angry and seething young woman.

Fleur's shoulders visibly slumped as a combination of a relieved sigh and a painful gasp escaped her lips.

Her mother and father were upon her in seconds, checking her over for injuries everywhere. There were a few blisters that were beginning to swell up with pus but other than that and being slightly overheated she felt relatively alright, all things considered.

"Mère." Fleur tried to get her mother's attention, but her mother was much too busy speaking in rapid French and continuing to try and touch every inch of Fleur she could reach that she didn't notice her daughter speaking.

"Mother. Mother!" Finally Apolline stopped her frantic actions and looked her daughter in the eyes. There was a pregnant pause and a wordless exchange between mother and daughter before a mossy colored blur flew by the booth and drew their attention away from each other.

A loud scream originating from behind them forced their hands over their ears.

"HAAARRRYY!" Fleur looked towards the source of the scream and saw the bushy haired girl brunette girl that had been panting earlier screaming her lungs out.

'_Why is she screaming? Was that blur really Harry? No! He can't die. He's the one that's caused all of this! He's the key to my happiness! Without him I'll never find out_

Fleur found herself moving before she could stop herself. She dashed to the edge of the box so she could try and do something to save him. But what she saw was not what she expected.

Harry didn't hit the ground and vaporize like she had been picturing only a second ago. No, he somehow had pulled off some wandless magic as if it was second nature and survived a fall from extreme heights.

Before she could concern herself with the fact that Harry was now unconscious in the middle of the stadium a strong grip made itself known upon her shoulder.

"Fleur, we need to leave." Her father's deep baritone came from behind her.

She turned around to ask why, but the words died in her throat. Everyone around them, including the British Minister Fudge, was looking at her and her mother with an array of different reactions.

The British Minister had a slightly stunned look on his face and was grasping at his chest, her own French Minister was smiling at her kindly. Others, like the German and Spanish Ministers along with a few others that she didn't know were looking at her with disgust and anger written upon their features.

Clearly her and her mother's little fiery stunt earlier had not gone over well. She was used to it though; all her life people had been judging her.

Viewing her as either a trophy to be won, or a dangerous animal that should be put down. It didn't bother her nearly as much anymore as it did when she was younger.

Before she had realized just what it meant to be a half-Veela she had welcomed the attention that many boys, young and old, had lavished upon her. She had enjoyed it for a while even. Until the very forward advances began, some even going so far as to attempt kidnappings. Now she just tried to ignore it as much as she could.

It didn't help that here in England the men were all pigs without self-restraint though. Hell, the red-haired boy that was sitting next to the bushy brunette was still gawking at her with dazed eyes and a bit of drool dripping from his lip.

And then there were all of the people that condemned her for her heritage. The people against _'half-breed'_ rights. People who would try to graffiti their house or sabotage her schooling if it wasn't for her parents' excellent warding capabilities or her Headmistress who had fired multiple teachers.

It was those kinds of looks that bothered her the most. She tried to ignore them as much as possible but she had less experience trying to block these looks out. Her parents had shielded her well from these kinds of people, but now that she was old enough to get out in the world, she had started to see them more and more.

But she would deal with the looks as she had learned to deal with everything. The cold persona that she had carefully constructed throughout the last few years of her schooling seeped back into her posture and attitude. Normally she would not use it around her parents but the angry looks from such powerful people were intimidating, and she reacted instinctively.

Her back straightened up, her chin jutted out in the imitation of some snobby, stuck up royal. Her blue eyes went from crystal to ice, the sides of them stretched down as a her lips drew into a severe line.

She was cold anger now. Not the hot and fiery anger that made flames come to life, but the kind of subtle anger that was enough to make people afraid to approach you.

But even as she got into her persona, her father was already on the move, pulling her along by the hand towards the exit to the Ministers Box, her mother dragging her protesting sister, who was desperately trying to see if her idol was alright, in much the same manner.

They exited the box quickly and without any interference, the French Minister close on their heels as he almost had to jog to keep up with the frenzied pace that her father set.

After what felt like only a few seconds to Fleur but was most likely a few minutes, they were already back in their tent.

The familiar polished hardwood floors, crystalline chandeliers, and marble top dining room table in the expanded confines were a welcome sight to her and her family as they all took a few moments to catch their breath. The French Minister was bent over with his hands on his knees and panting like a dog.

"You need to get out more, Claude. You don't even look like someone who used to be in the corps." her Father joked at the Minister.

"You'd be out of shape too if you sat at a desk for the last thirteen years. The Aurors were a long time ago Sebastian." The Minister retorted with a smile.

"Has it really been that long? My how time flies." Sebastian got a faraway look on his face and Fleur could almost see visions of the past floating past him.

"Indeed it has, but never in my time as Minister have I ever come so close to sparking International conflict as we seem to have tonight. Ladies, care to explain that rather noticeable display earlier?" The words were kind and grandfatherly but there was something else in it that tone. Something that was hidden but urged her to speak or else suffer some unknown consequence.

"It was Harry." Fleur's eyes widened as a sudden realization struck her like a lightning bolt. Those strange red lights, something in them must have triggered her transformation as well as all of the other Veela's.

"What?" A chorus of voices from all others in the room sounded as one, as the ludicrousness of her statement swept the room.

"You're a liar!" Little Gabby, who had been ignored for most of the night now, was fed up. She had been so excited to see her idol, and when she actually did meet him she got stage fright and remained quiet through the entire game.

And in her mind it was all Fleur's fault. Fleur and her mother got to touch Harry, got to play with magic with him. And then he gave Fleur a kiss on her hand! It was all about Fleur the entire night, even when she lit on fire and had to be rushed out, making her have to leave before she had another chance to talk to Harry.

"You're a big mean liar!" She yelled at her sister again before dashing off to her room.

The rest of the onlookers stood shocked at the sudden outcry of the smallest Delacour, and Fleur had tears running down her face.

To Fleur, Gabby was a constant. Someone she could always talk to and always rely on to see her as just Fleur, her older sister. And this was the first time they had fought in any way, Fleur knew it was going to happen someday, but to happen today after everything else that had already happened along with it's suddenness… She just wasn't prepared, and the tears fell freely as she looked pleadingly to her mother.

Apolline was a sensitive woman. She was also a master manipulator. Being a part-Veela for as long as she had, had forced her to develop certain skills in order to thrive in a human filled environment. She could tell how her daughter's emotions had fluctuated all night. She had seen hope and panic, embarrassment and anger. Tonight was not the night for an interrogation by the Minister.

The oldest woman in the room turned to her husband and her Minister, a submissive look on her face that didn't match at all with her next words.

"Minister, I believe that we can both agree that naming Harry Potter as the cause of all of this is a rather bold and somewhat unreasonable claim. Correct?" She said, while delving into herself and using every ounce of control she could to guide her magic. This was manipulation of the finest quality, and it had to be done extremely carefully.

The Minister nodded in total agreement, not realizing that a miniscule amount of allure was being expertly directed into his nostrils and making him a little more malleable to Apolline's suggestions.

Sebastian Delacour sat down in a chair at the table, out of the view of his own Minister, his head shook side to side as his hand covered his eyes and an exasperated smile covered his face.

He knew exactly what she was doing. This was a technique she rarely used but when she did, he knew just how effective it was. It was how she roped him into marrying her after all. And never once had he regretted it. It was just funny to watch her use it on his boss.

The hook was in, and Apolline's submissive looked took a turn and quickly became one of polite indignation. "So don't you think that with both my daughters in such a sorry state that it is rather impolite to come into my house and ask barbed questions? Do you know anything of Veela? Even after all of these years of friendship I would think that you would know that neither I nor my daughter would ever try and do anything to purposefully start conflict, especially given our already fragile public image."

It didn't matter that her argument was broken and somewhat randomly ordered. The allure had already done its job and made the Minister _want_ to please her. The allure also had an added effect that made Claude more attuned to her emotional state. So it really did not matter exactly what came out of her mouth, the key to her manipulation was being able to simulate her own emotions and then project them onto the Minister.

At the beginning she had faked emotions of guiltiness and self-loathing, coupled with a slight hint of incredulity. This inspired the Minister to feel sorry for her, to open a hole in his defenses, where upon the incredulous feeling would inspire doubt in his mind.

After that it was all righteous fury and indignation. And since the allure gently made the middle-aged Minister Canard want to please her, he was all backpedalling from that point on.

"Oh, no-no-no-no-no. You misunderstand Apolline. I was merely curious, merely curious. I would never suggest something so forward. And I trust now that everything that happened tonight was an accident. I know you and young Fleur would never do something so noticeable in public. Please forgive me." The Minister was all smiles and cold sweat as he came very close to begging for her forgiveness.

The experience manipulator dropped her allure stream and plastered a nice big smile across her lips. "All is forgiven Claude, no need for any hard feelings. Now if you will excuse us, I believe my daughter and myself have a few things to discuss before we adjourn for the evening."

"Of course, of course." Claude said, shaking his head from side to side as if trying to throw off a haze. "Ladies, Sebastian, I will see you all in the morning." And with his bid goodnight, the Minister walked to his own bedroom in the massive fourteen bedroom tent.

After waiting a few seconds for the sound of footsteps to fade away, Fleur turned to her mother. Tear tracks were still evidenced on her face but her eyes were dry. Those very eyes shone with amazement towards her mother.

"How did you do that? It was amazing, I don't think I've ever seen such control over an allure in my life."

Apolline chuckled, "I'm guessing you still have your mage sight in place if you could see it. Please take it off, it's not healthy to use so much magic on your eyes." Fleur immediately waved her wand and the glow of her blue eyes dimmed a little as the sight vanished, leaving her a little woozy now that everything was in a much lower level of clarity. "And as for my skill over allure, it's practice, my flower, practice."

"Hmph, practice indeed. Did you have to use such a tactic on my boss, chère?" Sebastian was resting his elbow on the table and his head was propped up in his hand as a light smile was directed at his wife. His eyes took on a mischievous glint, "Or at least couldn't you have gotten me a raise?"

"Stop complaining dear. I'm afraid we have slightly more important things to discuss. Such as why Fleur believes that Harry was the cause of all of our sudden transformations tonight. The only thing I can remember is that a sudden anger overwhelmed me out of the blue. And before I knew it I was in my avian form and about to destroy everyone in that box until I came back to my senses. It was a very brief and freak accident that I have no way to explain. But Fleur had her mage sight in place so I imagine that she saw more than I did." Apolline explained to her husband before her gaze came to rest on Fleur.

Fleur nervously began to explain. "Well, I was watching Harry after he seemingly transformed after our experiments."

"Experiments! You were performing experiments on a celebrity! What were you thinking?" Sebastian cut across his daughter's explanation as his own anger flared up.

"Oh hush dear. It's done now and nothing bad happened. I was helping the entire time." said Apolline, quickly hushing her husband's protests with an offhanded wave. Sebastian relented but still sat in his place with an angry look.

"Yes, well, after Harry seemed to change, which I'm sure you noticed too." Fleur's mother nodded, "Harry became very aggressive. But while he was playing the game, and as he got faster and faster, he started to exude a very large amount of magic across his entire body. He was pretty much glowing from what I could see, which takes a very large amount of magic to become visible to mage sight from within the body."

"Wait, you could see his magic from within his body?" Sebastian cut in once again. "The amount of magic needed to be produced in order for the body to not even be able to contain it all signifies that Harry's core is almost too strong for his body. I see it often in younger Auror recruits who learn too much magic too quickly, and their core development outpaces their physical development. Without the proper balance of physical and magical, the magic can erode the body and ultimately result in death without proper recourse." Sebastian was almost frantic with his explanation.

"Too see this kind of symptom in a boy so young is astonishing. Magical maturity isn't reached until seventeen, when a witch or wizard goes through their final magical growth spurt, so to speak. It's hard to believe that it's even possible. Are you sure he was exuding enough magic to be noticed by mage vision? It wasn't a trick of the lights or something else?" Sebastian's anger was gone, replaced with honest curiosity and worry for the young Potter Heir.

It may not concern him directly, but he was an Auror at heart, and he was not about to allow some innocent young man be killed because no one else had noticed how magically gifted he was.

"I'm sure papa, and just before he caught the Snitch is where I believe his magic exploded from his body, and for some unexplainable reason, bits of his magic latched onto every person with Veela blood and caused them to transform." Fleur finished her explanation to the narrowed eyes of her mother, who was furiously trying to think of why Harry's magic would latch onto them specifically.

"Something is wrong with this whole situation. There is no way that a young boy of fourteen can be able to rebound the allure so completely, then change to accepting it, and then somehow force every single Veela in the vicinity to undergo a complete transformation. I just don't get it." Apolline had taken a seat at the white marble table as she was voicing her thoughts.

"I think… I think it is time to call for together the enclave. This is much too suspicious for my tastes, and it was specifically targeting Veela." Apolline's declaration was met with silence.

"Are you sure Apoll?(pronounced Apple) You told me yourself that the enclave hasn't met in over five years, that was what? _Three _years ago?

"I believe this situation calls for it, there are too many things left unexplained. I'll make the floo-call in the morning, for now, I believe we all could use some rest."

The French family broke up after that, bidding one another goodnight and leaving to their bedrooms.

Fleur flopped ungracefully into her satin red sheets, her face deep in her pillow.

'_Why didn't I tell mama'n about my transformation? She said hers was a sudden anger that forced her to change, but I didn't feel any anger until I had to forcefully try and control the flames. When Harry's magic struck me… I was calm. It was almost peaceful for a second until I started panicking. Was that why the flames tried to burn me? 'I wonder what the enclave is going to be like? What will they try and do to Harry?' _Fleur's thoughts would keep her up all night.

Or rather, they would have if a large explosion hadn't shattered the stillness of her room halfway through it.

* * *

A/N: Alright, well, uhhhh... So I've been busy. HA, but for real. I worked 160 hours in the 13 days that followed my last update. Then I started school, and if any of you know engineering school (with two minors)... well you would know my pain. Trimester system with 18 credits a quarter... not fun. I was on the news too! If you live in Southeastern WI then you might have saw me on channel 6.

But whatever, I'm back! And that's all that matters. I'm really, really gonna try for weekly updates again, but we'll see how it goes. It shouldn't get any worse than biweekly.

Next chapter, expect a little Fleur and a lot of Harry. (exactly opposite this chapter pretty much). I've got big plans...

As always REVIEW and give me some feedback. Tell me if you loved or hated it, felt 'meh' or 'woah'.


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